


Morning Wind

by Spc4eva



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda, Angst, Banter, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Force-Sensitive Original Character(s), I'm making a bunch of stuff up, Japanese Culture, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Protective Din Djarin, Protective Grogu | Baby Yoda, Resol'nare (Star Wars), Samurai, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spc4eva/pseuds/Spc4eva
Summary: House Shand was always a prestigious name within the galaxy, one of five Shogun families dwelling on Jakon. With deep ties to the Jedaii and a history of Force-sensitive ancestors, two paths diverge. One the path of an assassin and the other who still desperately clings to the Bushido despite the fall of their people. Two sisters with paths interlaced and songs battling.Two sisters and one who helps the Mandalorian.--Reader tags for additional exposure.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Fennec Shand & Original Character(s), Fennec Shand & Reader
Kudos: 18





	1. Raincloud

**Author's Note:**

> I was heavily inspired by Japanese culture and created a bunch of space shit, which I like to do. I don’t know how often I’ll be updating this fic. But please enjoy.
> 
> This chapter is mostly preface and because I wanted to write pretty settings. Also I’ve taken some liberty with Fennec Shand’s background.
> 
> Rating is subject to change as story progresses.

Rain rarely fell on such an arid, hot planet, sulfuric tendrils snaking up from the lava flats in miasmatic fingers, reeking of ozone and plunging down any foolish enough to be out on a Red Day without a proper mask. Twisting above in a choppy, brooding storm, the sky reflected the obsidian hills; dark, menacing, a hellish wind scathing the countryside and riding like the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse beneath the crumbling archway. Pelting those outside, the gnashing teeth of the air nipped at cloaks and fabric, grabbing wary travelers in an attempt to ferry them out and into the sky, toward the gaping mouth of the foreboding clouds which roared like a dragon with thunder.

Greef Karga leered out through the long, rectangular window behind the bar of his establishment. Dozens of hunters were holed up in the cantina, huddled in their cloaks to ride out the storm. They weren't common, but when they did come, it was as if every petulant God in the galaxy had tilted their wrathful eyes, smiting the already inhospitable landscape that was Nevarro. The first fat raindrops were accompanied by a strike of lightning on the horizon that quaked the earth with the yawn of a mighty titan stirring deep within the volcanoes.

He grimaced, fingers tightening around his spotchka as the glowing blue liquid seethed at the edges, ripples produced with each thunderous strike of the weather, the titan had gone to its forge and was hammering the core of the planet sending out crashes and booms, accented by the staccato thrumming of the rain and the wailing soprano of the wind. Each storm creates a new orchestral symphony, raw, powerful, and dangerous. This would only last the better part of a day, maybe two if they were truly unfortunate; their composer might bless them with an encore of his work, which would result in more anxious, moody bounty hunters as they were forced to stay on-planet. No one could fly from the space-port without risk of being taken down by, the affronted composer had done this before, spitting on those who couldn't endure the beauty of his work, sending them down to the depths where his percussionist, the titan, could reforge the steel of their starship and melt it amongst the Nevarran core.

It was on one of these days, a fateful storm, that he met one of his best hunters.

The door to the cantina hissed open, hydraulics moaning painfully as the wind shrieked in, stealing the souls of the nearest patrons who shrank away as if shadowed by reapers. A curtain of rain made the figure nearly indistinguishable as they hovered there, a forlorn and drowned visage, contemplating being resigned to their fate in the storm or taking the opportunity to seek shelter. Only when a hunter snarled in indignation at the door still being open, did the silhouette finally pass the watery threshold and enter the common house of the Guild.

Puffing shut, the figure stood there dripping as if they'd just gone swimming in Nevarro's nonexistent ocean. Eyes turned, tracing the details of the stranger, and spines stiffened. Karga's own interest was piqued, as he had never seen this hunter before, but he knew of the stories from the lush planet on which they hailed.

Beautiful crimson robes clung to the stiff edges of armor that was hidden beneath the folds of kimono. The thick fabric, despite being soaked, was large and loose on the stranger. Black and gold mist spiraled up from the hem and curled breaths of onyx clouds along the scarlet shoulders and collar. The layers beneath were black and the sharp curves protruding indicative of the figure being a droid or the metal beneath an ensemble of hidden armor. Karga placed his bet on the latter, admiring the finery.

The people of Jakon had always been renowned for their eye for detail and beauty in all facets of life, be that war, love, culture, or poetry. Dripping on the stoop was an example of this tantalizing poetry, from the curve of a thick ashen scarf hemmed with silver tracings, to the wide brimmed conical hat that cut the figure's face from view. The mysteriousness of the Jakonian was just as enticing and succulent as a Mandalorian's; a forbidden fruit on a tree just as likely to poison as to provide life. But there were distinct differences between the two cultures, as Jakon still thrived, as did its people. A collection of multicolored sashes along the figure's obi secured one of the famed blades.

He had met Jakonans before, but never one who possessed one of those weapons. A katana forged of Tamahagane, a steel just as coveted around the galaxy as beskar. While not impervious like the Mandalorian steel, it was known for producing the sharpest edges that never chipped or required sharpening. Even vibro-blades were all a mock imitation of what Jakonans had perfected thousands of years ago. Master artisans poured their hearts and souls into the detailing, which he could not make from his spot in the corner of the cantina. The sheathe, however, was glorious. A long, curved strip of magnificence based in charcoal and overlaid pale powder blue clouds swirling up to greet the crossguard of the sword in a gentle kiss. A golden serpent curved around the clouds, flat head notching to the seam and brushed close to where the Jakonan's gloved palm rested naturally.

Crimson fabric laden with water snapped outward to reveal a sandaled foot. The clicking might have gone unnoticed if every eye in the room was not fixated on the blood-hued enigma that was carefully trotting forward, the edge of their rice-hat tilted downward, charms tinkling on the guard of the sword. Instead, each clack echoed, a dull solo in the mad symphony of the hurricane blasting the windows with feral wrath.

Karga's heart began to thrum with the beat of the sublime music, the clacking sandals drawing to a rallentando as the figure halted in front of him. A peal of lightning illuminated the entire cantina, a fatal strike juxtaposed to the space-port. The searing white light blinded the patrons, himself included, eyes rapidly readjusting as the hat tilted up and he caught his breath, convinced he was in a nightmare. No human face greeted him beneath the cowl of wide brimmed hat. Frozen in an animalistic snarl, tusks, a snout, and menacing metallic teeth were peeled at him. Shocked for the briefest moment, it took the man a beat to realize that the face was an ornate, detailed metal mask in the shape of a ferocious wolf, detailed all the same with swirls of steel clouds.

Covering the entirety of the Jakonan's face, the eyeholes of the figure covered by dark, transparent plastoid that mortal eyes were gazing out from. Karga could not see the stranger's eyes, but he knew they were there, just as he knew that beneath the T visors of a Mandalorian, their eyes were also there. Though, Mandalorians were imposing for a different reason and not because their helmets were fashioned to be intimidating as the somen mempo that the Jakonan donned.

"Welcome," Karga entreated after battling his racing heart, opening his palms to shatter the disconcerted silence that threatened to smother the cantina as eyes continued to leer in the direction of the warrior. "What may I do to help a fine, regal Jakonan such as yourself?" Flattery was his favorite weapon, smoothing over his workers, making them think he actually gave half a womp rat's ass about them. All that mattered was making deadlines and bringing in bounties. He already had a Mandalorian in his employ, but not a Jakonan and Karga was a collector.

"Work," simple, to the point, and astonishingly not curt. The voice was being translated through a modulator in the mempo, a gravelly, grating tone that was harsh on the ears, flipping the original voice on its head and dropping it an octave. Despite the cordiality of the tone, the demonic grinding of it made the hairs on Karga's neck stand straight up.

"Are you a member of the Guild?" he inquired lightly, trading the minute details in the embroidery on the kimono, the rutting sharp lines of the armor hidden beneath. The figure was not tall or short, nor exceptionally broad. However, a person could be intimidating and be two feet high. It was the confident set in the shoulders, throwing them back in erect, perfect posture and the constant need to have a hand on the pommel of the sword. The hilt elegant wrapped in gold shimmersilk.

"No."

A man... or creature of few words. No matter, Karga dealt with this type quite often. Bounty hunters were not typically chatty persons. "Then I'm afraid we're at an impasse. I can give you an introductory job in order to earn your keep, but otherwise I cannot hand out typical pucks. A standard introductory job would be low paying-" he started with the details, the figure craning in to listen to his spiel before leveling the wolf mask at him.

"No," they repeated carefully, reaching within the fold of their kimono and drawing an article out. From their lack of words, Karga was beginning to wonder if they could speak Basic. In the dim lighting of the cantina, punctuated periodically by the glare of lightning, a painted card flickered and cast refracting the ruby eyes set into the clay. Placing it gently, with the care a mother would caress her child, the Jakonan slid it across the table."My work is not cheap."

Karga lifted it, tracing his dark fingers along the edges of the card and turning his thumbs over the garnet eyes that winked at him. Shand. Glancing back up, he gave the stranger another once over, the calling card of the Shand House impossible to mistake, the laughing fox sneering at hip in its frozen reverie. "Hm, perhaps we can work something out," he considered, passing the token back to the owner. "I'll need a name. I presume you will go by your house?"

"No. Just Ronin," they tucked the card back into their robes. Turning around, Ronin started for the door again, undaunted by the torrential downpour.

"Ronin!" Karga called after them, the figure pausing to glance back.

"Call me when you have a job."

Karga's brows furrowed, but when he looked back down, he noticed a chip had been left on the table with the number for a comlink. He snorted, amused by the sleight of hand despite how lethargically Ronin moved, each flutter of the heavy sleeves intentional, but... those sleeves had covered their hand and Karga hadn't noticed what transpired beneath the fold of crimson. Turning the chip over, he heard the door hiss open, rain drumming rapidly, before Ronin stepped back out into the storm and disappeared.

On the comlink, a swirling cloud like the eyebrows of the mask Ronin had wore.

"Let me go for you, father!"

Cherry blossoms swayed, pale petals fluttering from the boughs in a shower of floral snow. At the base of the tree, a man sat with the molted obsidian blade of his family displayed on his lap. A polishing cloth lathed the edges, bringing out the molted crackles of white inlaid within the steel. He did not glance up, did not acknowledge the girl in front of him, kneeling in the grass and pressing her brow dutifully at the toes of his sandals. Instead, he gazed past her toward the smooth reflective surface of the neighboring pond. Petals danced along the surface, sending minute ripples and shattering the perfect blue sky.

"It is not up for debate, Asa," he answered calmly, breath like the smooth wind that tossed the flower petals now, and like the name of his daughter - the morning wind; Asakaze.

Lifting her head, nebulous black eyes implored him, respectful but desperate. "I am ready. It is in my blood, just as it is in the blood of every Shand."

She was still little more than a girl playing at war. The Empire cared not for their ways, nor the details in their lives. All the poetry and song would be replaced with a field of white, blackened visors, and a bucket that did not sing their heritage. He did not wish for his daughter to lose her lineage so young, but the Empire would not leave until Jakon had given them the resources they desperately desired: bodies.

"Then it will be your blood used to paint the Empire's victory," he replied thinly, imagining her amber skin as pale as the cursed plastoid, her silken hair matted with dirt and residue, and her delicate palms, that played the shakuhachi so dexterously, broken. "What honor will you bring to our family from behind a mask that is not our own?"

Asa's lip quivered, but to her own credit, the girl did not balk. Instead, her fingers tightened into fists, curling into the grass which was ripped up in her quiet wrath. "You will die. I am young. I can survive."

"I am old, Asa. You have your entire life ahead of you," he sighed, lowering his katana onto his lap and bringing his hand forward to caress his daughter's hair back. "And you are gifted. The God-beasts chose you, as they have chosen many Shands before. Your Chi will not go unnoticed amongst them and they will wish to wield it for their own demonic purposes. Purposes the Gods would not wish. I must go."

"If... she was here, would you have sent her?" Asa did not look up, instead continuing to pick at the fragments of grass.

"No, my decision would still be the same," he assured her, bringing his fingers to tilt his daughter's chin up so that she could gaze into his eyes. Reflected in his dark pools, there was no fear, but a strange astonishing peace and resignment to his fate. He wondered if Asa would have been here had the Order not fallen or if the allies of Jakon would have taken her at birth as they had so many before. "Your Chi will guide you, as it always has. Trust here-" he brushed her kimono over her heart. "Now," sliding his palm underneath the blade of his katana, the other balancing along the hilt, he lifted it. " _Amagumo_."

Asa froze, her eyes tracing over the blade that appeared to be marred by strikes of lightning, her father's head bowing as it was offered to her. _Amagumo_ , the sword of the Shand House, the raincloud to the laughing fox. Passed down for centuries, erring on over a thousand years from whence it was forged. Trembling, she reached forward, her head bowing as tears collected in the corners of her eyes. Only the head of the Shand House wore _Amagumo_ and by passing the sword to her, he passed the title as liege.

"May the Bushido guide you in all things you do. The way of the warrior is a path we all walk, regardless of our upbringing, regardless of our luck, and regardless of our gender," he recited, passing the polished katana to her. Meeting her flesh, her skin crawled as the song of the sword hitched to a high, her Chi humming with the knowledge that _Amagumo_ had been a dutiful partner for so many Shands before her; warriors, lovers, poets, and _Jedaii_. While the blade was not of kyber or light, the primordial power remained and had not faltered. There had been a time where Jedaii - before the Jedi - used such blades when lightsabers had yet to be developed. Their alliance with Jakon did not fade, even if the use for Tamahagane did. Now they were gone.

"I will protect our culture, our way, and our life with the strength of my body and this sword," Asa promised, staring into her warbled reflection in the steel. Sitting in the peace of the zen garden, she savored the last moments she had with her father before he marched to his final battle, never to return. However, just as the cherry blossoms bloom, scatter, a new year will bring about the same change.

But as Asa stood in the place where her father once sat, _Amagumo_ dripped crimson, splattered against the verdant grass she'd once torn up. The blue sky was polluted with the haze of demonic black smoke, screams echoing in the distance like sharp punctuation of chimes, the throbbing of the war march cascading over the din. Laid before her, snow-white armor painted with blood, but not her own as her father had once worried. Frozen by the strife that had engulfed Jakon, a single tear slid down her face as she left the cherry blossom behind and started through the massacred hallways of her home.

No longer was there a house to govern. If there was, Asakaze would not take part in picking up the fragments of a broken clan, half of which had turned their blades in her direction for not forfeiting to the Empire when requested to send another thousand Jakonans to their losing war. Asa refused. Watching the unbidden tears of her people as they wept, begging for the God-beasts to hear their pleas as their population dwindled - a continuous pulse for the Empire until now. Now, she'd severed the artery after six years of this hell. Now, she paid the price in full, splattering the blood that would have fallen eventually. At least, it had been on their own soil.

Would it have been different if she was here? No, deep within the humming of her Chi, she knew that this outcome would have rose to meet them with the tide. For so long, Jakon had escaped scrutiny and survived the ever tilting scales of balance between Light and Dark. But Jakon was not lost, only those who had refused the Empire's ravenous appetite, even deeper and more harrowing than that of a starved rancor. It was time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To better explain the method to my madness here are some inspiration images for Ronin.
> 
> [The Armor](https://pin.it/2E3RMjV)
> 
> [The Kimono](https://pin.it/2vZK9nh)
> 
> [The Mask](https://pin.it/6MCYb3S)


	2. The Life Debt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy! I had fun painting the imagery, especially from Din's POV.

_"Mando. I owe you one."_

On the frozen surface of Hoth, he heard words from a stranger he never expected. Bounty hunting was a lucrative business and others rarely played nice. Killing other hunters was frowned upon, but that didn't mean it wasn't a common occurrence, especially for him. Other hunters would get in the way or attempt to swoop in like a ravenous carrion picking a corpse while the predator still gnawed at it. Din Djarin had killed plenty of other hunters that had gotten in his way, but this time is was different.

He had noticed the Ronin a few times before this and partially because Karga seethed about them, comparing Mandalorian to Jakonan. Blood red robes accented by ash and gold, hidden beneath a mask frozen in a snarl. Naturally, as predators did, they steered clear of one another. There was no business to be had with the samurai and he wasn't the type to begin small talk over the fabled Tamahagane sword the Ronin wore, just as the figure respected his own inclinations and the beskar he donned. Still, he duly noted that the Ronin had the highest stakes in the bounty game when compared to him, the only other predator strong enough to take multiple pucks at once and turn them over in the curt deadlines that Karga insisted on dealing.

Despite Din's lack of knowledge of the Ronin, he could respect the hunter's prowess and was gracious that they'd never needed to cross paths until this point.

That was until Karga duped them both, dealing dual pucks for the same elusive bounty.

Hoth was a wasteland decorated in a beautiful sheathe of pristine white, gilding the desert with a blanket of purity, constantly being turned over by the shrieking tundra winds. Wailing like a banshee, footprints quickly eroded on the snow dusted surface of thick ice, rarely having melted more than an inch or two within the last few centuries. Despite the inhospitable hell that Hoth was, creatures still found a way to survive in the glimmering ice encrusted mountains and caverns.

Half the battle of finding a bounty here was the environment, the plummeting temperatures, and fauna in desperate search of its next meal. The other half was following a cold trail before the screeching wind erased it. Tracking fobs only worked within a certain proximity of the bounty, so establishing an area to search within the white fingers tried to pry past his visor, choke underneath his flak suit, and strip at his offensive durasteel like a rabid lover.

Finding the correct cave had been the least of his worries. Aside from the fading mint of large boots, a second set was more innocuously hidden, utilizing the original prints to mask their own. However, he was able to discern the soft bite of a toe, the second individual's foot considerably smaller than the bounty's. His quarry was already being hunted and that hastened his pace, unwilling to part with the high payment, nor the irritation of losing out to another hunter. He was the best at his trade and some upstart hunter wasn't going to circumvent him by being light on their toes and a few paces ahead of him.

Crunching through the permafrost, each step grinding ice into snow, he ducked into the cavern, the wailing wind subsiding within the shelter of the stone walls. Despite the coverage, inside was just as frozen and frigid. Stalactites and stalagmites were encased in cloak of ice, chomping down to create the image of a throat of magnificent diamond teeth of a beast, illuminated only by a fallen torchlight.

A guttural roar echoed deep within, rattling the icicles and setting his teeth on end as his blood began to pulse in his ears. Before him was a detailed story of what had happened, written in the language of footprints in the frost. One had entered, another had followed. Deeper, the story continued until a set, thrice the size of either original paces, joined the ballad. Droplets of crimson blossomed like poppies in the scant grey light of the cavern, brightened by his own light as he frowned deeply, grazing over gouged stone where claws had shorn rock. Another glance at the enormous paw prints reminded him that Hoth possessed rather terrible fauna and he had an idea of what the quarry and hunter before him had encountered.

Drawing his pulse rifle, he glided forward, carefully rolling heel to toe to mask all the noise he made. Stealthily, stealing into the darkening depths of the unknown, he swapped the safety off and kept his finger ready by the trigger. Scarlet flowers of blood lined the path, tiny little buds winking freshly, indicating that they'd only bloomed recently. Movement made him jerk instinctively, leveling the rifle as an ashen cloak fluttered like a raven's wing and a silhouette danced away from a hulking, behemouth shag carpet of ivory. His visor caught the glint of the Tamahagane blade first, striking the light of his torch and throwing crackling stripes of pearl where the steel was lanced with lightning-like folds.

_The Ronin._

Fleeing from the Wampa, the samurai treaded lightly, gliding elegantly as the robes beneath the fold of their cloak whipped. Din observed from his perch up toward the incline of the cavern, eyes raking over the yeti and then to the Jakonan. He doubted that such a hunter, rumored to be on equal grounds with himself, required assistance. Eyes narrowing, the Ronin swiped their sword down, air whistling where the blade passed and kept the Wampa at bay from tackling them. Then he saw it, the slick liquid trailing down from the hilt of the blade, over the guard, and dripping against the charcoal steel. Whatever trauma was there, it was hidden beneath the wide brim of the kimono sleeve, whispering only in the form of ruby liquid dripping and staining a wake where it trailed.

The Ronin had been injured, hefting the long curved katana as they back themselves into a corner without realizing. Remembering the story in the dust, Din realized that the Ronin had not anticipated crossing the Wampa and had been ambushed, the wound a telltale sign that the yeti had gotten the better of them if only for the briefest of moments. The fact they were still alive was a testament for their speed and agility, but such luck was running thin and the Ronin seemed aware of this. Drawing a second blade, the Ronin turned it toward themselves, poising it over their heart, more willing to commit suicide than be ripped apart by the monster.

Din raised his pulse rifle and fired.

Crashing and echoing like the mighty smash of cymbals, the shot took the Wampa on the side of the heat, incinerating the skull and causing it to collapse in a white mound just ten feet from the Ronin. The blade clattered from the Ronin's hand, head whipping up to leer at him from behind a snarling countenance, pausing as they shuddered and reached over to grip their wounded arm, an attempt to staunch the flow of blood that had led Din to them like a trail of crumbs.

"Mando," the gravelly, demonically modulated voice had rarely been leveled his way. In fact, this might have been the first time they had officially spoke other than a few muttered words that their vocoders never properly translated.

Shouldering his rifle, his T visor listed down to meet the darkened pits of black sit into the wolf's face. "Ronin." A silent stalemate, leering between two hunters, and the obvious predicament they were both in. Perhaps not so much Din, as he was uninjured and had the comfort of two dozen feet between him and the swordsman. And yet, he drank his fill of the bottomless abyss of the Ronin's mask and wondered what the creature behind it was thinking.

"The bounty is hiding deeper in the caves," Ronin informed him eventually, sheathing their sword and glancing over to their injury still obscured by the copious amount of fabric that they somehow moved as if made of wind when the samurai stirred. "It would seem Karga gave both of us the same puck." No suggestions were made, just a plain statement that this might have been a setup to see which hunter would return victorious and if their counterpart would ever step within the cantina on Nevarro. A petty game on Karga's part.

"It would seem," Din agreed solemnly.

Another terse quiet slipped over the caverns, interrupted only by the heavy mouth breathing of the Ronin who appeared to be more gravely wounded than they were letting on. "Mando. I owe you one," they proclaimed, bending down to pick up the fallen dirk, sliding it into the plethora of multicolored obi sashed wrapped around their waist. "The bounty is yours, but-" Ronin fell to their knees, not out of faintness or blood loss, but in a respectful manner. The rim of the ashen rice hat tilting toward the ground as they pressed their uninjured arm over their heart. "I owe you a blood debt. Had you not shot the beast, I would be dead."

The legacy of Jakonan honor was not a matter to be taken lightly. He knew enough of their culture to be aware that any debts incurred were always paid in full. Saving the Ronin and expecting payment aside from the quarry, had not been his intention. However, in the few moments whilst he stood there regarding the cloaked silhouetted, he realized the debt he'd carved for the samurai. 

"The bounty is payment enough," Din shifted uncomfortably, disliking the idea of being owed such a favor. He didn't need help, nor any indentured servitude from the Jakonan. What he had done was purely to create a means for an end. The Wampa needed to die regardless and letting it kill the Ronin did nothing but cost the galaxy the skill of another veteran bounty hunter. While they were not friends, he had passed the Ronin in the cantina for nearly 8 years now and they were the only hunter not to press his patience.

"A debt is owed," the Ronin repeated, the gravel in their voice softening and becoming disconcertingly soft compared to the imposing swordsman Din had warily watched from a distance. "And it may be paid in any manner which you see fit. Now or in the future."

He spared no other words to the Ronin as he stalked by, continuing to eye the figure as he slipped by, wondering if the samurai would ambush him while preoccupied with the bounty. However, upon returning with the wilting quarry in tow, the Ronin had departed, making well on their relinquishment of the bounty and leaving behind a few more droplets of blood. Despite how ominous the Ronin had always seemed, they could bleed.

"Did you offer the Ronin the same quarry?" Din asked tersely, leering down at Karga as he spoke of a Client in need of very particular and talented help. Two years had passed since his encounter with the samurai on Hoth, the snarling wolf's mask tilting toward him questioningly when they did manage to cross paths, a debt not forgotten. He had no intentions of ever making good on what the Jakonan felt they owed him. It had been a job and the Wampa was in his way.

"Ronin isn't interested. Fellow's got a list of jobs he won't take and this one falls under that category. Real shame, would've liked to see you beat him at his own game again," Karga yawned, glancing at his nails in disinterest over the finger details of why his other premier bounty hunter wasn't willing to take the job. This should have been an obnoxious red flag to Din, but instead a pang of relief echoed in his chest, glad that he wouldn't be crossing the swordsman again. Apparently, Ronin had given Karga an earful about passing the same fobs between them and had set boundaries that Din didn't care to discuss.

As far as Karga was concerned, Din had beaten Ronin to the punch with the quarry on Hoth. The disgruntled magistrate was unaware that the Ronin had been paces ahead of him and had their roles been reversed, it might've been Din getting his durasteel crushed in by the Wampa in place of the Jakonan. Most of the other hunters in the Guild were under the assumption that there was a bitter rivalry between the two of them. Ironically, they couldn't have been more incorrect. Both warriors kept their distance and respected each other's abilities. There was an unspoken line neither crossed and until Karga had decided to play his games, no necessary requirement for either to interact.

Despite the masks they both wore, the modulated voices, and the predatory prowess both of them moved in, the Ronin was different. On many afternoons, Din had entered the cantina to find the Ronin sitting at tables playing sabacc and conversing gently to other hunters. Despite the metallic and earthen tone the demonic mempo spoke with, there was something rather quiet and soft spoken about the samurai. He supposed that was why the majority of the hunters in the Guild preferred the Ronin to him. Din did not spend any longer within the grimy cantina than required, ferrying himself out to the next job unlike Ronin who tended to loiter and collect stories.

It had taken Din the better part of three years to glean why Ronin did this.

Despite being quietly charismatic, the Ronin did nothing without a reason. Subjecting themselves to the teasing of other hunters, to having to share a few stories of their own, it was minute payment in exchange for the tales and information other hunters adored vomiting up. Most bounty hunters, while guarded, loved to brag about their endeavors. While Din ignored his competition, the Ronin got to know them when they were least suspecting, over a hand of cards and with a few drinks in their system. Not once had Din ever noticed a drink in front of the samurai.

The Jakonan was playing them like they played sabacc, gleaning the intentions and ambitions of any hunter that stepped foot on Nevarro. Had Din the patience or social skills, he might have entertained the idea of making a futile attempt to commit the copious amount of time and credits that the samurai did. Though his patience had waned long ago and Din did not gamble. Despite this, the Ronin's intellect was not lost on him and he respected his adversary - who, until Hoth, had never failed bringing in a quarry.

Not until the fated day that he had donned a suit of full beskar did Din ever contemplate speaking to the Ronin about the incurred debt. Only when he sat up in his cockpit, staring forlornly through the observation shield with a silver orb rolling in his gloved palm, did he notice the flapping of the crimson kimono as the hunter trotted toward their own small starship to depart on a mission, did he consider it. Aside from his Tribe, he rarely put weight into the words and promises of others. Carrying him as if his legs were wind, he was outside his ship and following in the wake of the sandal imprints the samurai had left in the sand, peppered with ash.

"Ronin!" he called brusquely, the figure freezing, slowly craning to glance at him with the bottomless eyes, tusks peeled back in a menacing snarl. A palm rested calmly on the hilt of their katana, a gesture he'd noticed was natural rather than defensive. "Your debt."

The wind danced across the space-port, kicking up a haze of dust and ozone from the sulfuric lava flats less than a kilometer away. Neither figure felt it, their respective masks filtering the haze. A questionable tilt declined their hat and Din knew what it was they were wondering, without voicing it outwardly.

"I require payment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, the story will be a bit more linear to the seasons and include more conversation/action. I wanted to make certain there was enough preface between the two bounty hunters before just tossing it all to the main storyline.


	3. Hooked on a Feeling

Docking on Nevarro was always a process. Not because there was a tower to report to or it was exceptionally difficult to find a spot on the 'tarmac', which consisted of a flat sandy dune, windswept and dotted with the sulfuric ash of the juxtaposed lava plains. Rather, mentally Asakaze found her lashes fluttering in irritation as she came back to this dry, arid, shitty planet. After a decade of making her rounds, she'd grown rather cynical and bored with her tactic for survival. Groaning, she rubbed her face in the cockpit, glowering through the tinted observation shield as she knew leaving her starship entitled getting in all of her armor and putting the kriffing mempo on. Had she not been wanted by the Empire for years, she might've taken it off, but there were still loyalists who would be able to pick her apart from other Jakonans.

Asakaze Shand was a traitor to the Empire, supplying them with bodies for years before renouncing her alliance and allegiance to the emperor. Originally, she had done it for her people, convinced that they could weather through the onslaught since the Empire was at war with the Rebel Alliance. Her anticipation was slapped right off her face and her entire clan was massacred, her escape nothing short of a miracle and only due to her abilities with her Chi. Despite the loss, House Shand was well known across the galaxy for less savory reasons and she took full advantage of their notorious reputation.

Exhaustion was the best way to explain how Asa felt, a deep bone weary existence that was the same day in and day out. Find the quarry, bring them in, get paid in credits, fuel up the ship, begin the rounds once again. What else was she to do? Even if the Empire was officially defeated, Asakaze was disgraced, no one was waiting for the Shand Shogun to return after she'd led their clan to ruin.

_I was a girl. Why did they expect me to know what to do? I was barely 20._

Rattling around her, the Ryu had seen better days and without constant maintenance, routine checkups, and a mechanic's knowledgeable hand Asa was on a countdown from when the starship would kick the bucket. Pinching between her brows she didn't bother stifling her sigh as she slapped the radio on the dash, beginning her Nevarro routine. To the Guild, Ronin was an enigma beside the Mandalorian. Honestly, she didn't know how the fuck she'd managed that. Beneath her mempo, Asa was the epitome was anxiety and awkwardness. What others perceived as calm, poised reservation was actually Asa not having any idea what to say, quietly simmering behind her mask as she wanted to do nothing more than shrink into nothingness.

Voices chanting began to filter through the radio, repeating the word simultaneously before a voice broke through with a wry wistfulness. Asa rose from her seat, robes fluttering around her as she darted to the side, throwing her arms out in a futile attempt to pump herself up.

" _I can't stop this feeling_

 _Deep inside of me-_ "

Dropping from the cockpit, down to the hull of the ship, Asa belted the song, all but screaming it as she grabbed her armor and began forcing it on. Her eyes leered at the cryo chamber during the guitar rift, pointing toward the ceiling as the horns blared between the lyrics, almost as if she were conducting it herself. Spinning around to a nonexistent audience, Asa cocked a smile and winked - at the wall, but in her head it was a fan. In her dreamscape, Asa had been a performer and singer - reality wasn't quite as fun. Asa dressed whilst the song continued, the final lines corresponding with the mempo being set in place, her own mellow voice replaced with the oni-setting on her modulator, intentionally deep and scathing.

Frowning when the song actually ended, Asa's shoulders sagged in her kimono, and she grumbled to herself, trotting to the controls beside the dock of her ship. Despite the attempt to put a little pep in her step, this hellish repetition was all that was keeping her clinging to sanity as she spun around on a carousel that never ended, constantly having her leer out at the same faces, despite the years that had passed. Asa didn't even know when she would be ready to finally step off the carousel, but supposed her Chi would eventually guide her in the right direction, just as her father had claimed. Thus far, her Chi had done nothing but fail her. This resulted in a deep-seated cynicism in the woman. For all her abilities, they hadn't once saved her.

Asa had the worst fucking luck.

Currently, her life was testament to that - a Shogun turned bounty hunter who had to hide her face despite the fall of the Empire. Any solace she had was on the _Ryu_ in the brief lulls between planets.

Opening the port, hands cocked on her hips, Asa let out a long sigh which did not properly register through the modulator on her mask. Although it filtered the atmosphere, she could feel the heat radiating off her skin beneath the loose kimono sleeves, the sulfur was infectious like a plague. Her entire ship reeked of it, the rotten egg stench permeating from all her attire, even the hilt of her katana. Yet another of the listless charms of Nevarro. Sauntering her way to the cantina, humming the song to herself, she untucked her arm from her kimono sleeve and levied it on the inside of the fold as she lazily trotted back into town.

Eyes traced her crimson form, wary and skittish. The irony. Beneath the folds of fabric was a lean woman, but a woman nonetheless. Her sandals gave her another few inches, giving her the appearance of being close to 5'10", a seemingly average height. In tandem with her armor hidden beneath her robes, she appeared much broader than she actually was. Sure, Asa had muscle and was a honed mercenary, but she wasn't thick or imposing. The walk was a big part of it and Asa moved with a lazy nonchalance. By this point, most people strayed clear of her path. Even when she'd first come to Nevarro, anyone who glimpsed her mempo was eager to flee before her. Originally, she'd found this amusing, but now she was growing rather sick of it. After years of it, watching people scatter like leaves in the wind was harrowing and lonely.

The cantina was a dusty hovel, filled to the brim with untrustworthy scum that Asa had come to consider acquaintances. Despite the fact they'd trade her in for a good sum of credits, they all had stories which she collected and transcribed to kanji. Poetry could be found in even the worst settings and as a Jakonan, songs and lore had never fled her heart. Her fingers itched to play her flute for an audience, but she didn't trust anyone enough to remove her mempo. Given that it had been a decade, Asa had resigned herself to accepting her fate alone. In hyperspace, only the stars listened to the song of the shakuhachi.

Grimacing beneath her mask, she noticed that Karga was exceptionally thrilled that afternoon. Usually, the only thing that made him excited was money and prospects that earned him better commission. His dark eyes brightened at the sight of her - or Ronin. Given the number of years they'd known one another, she'd established a baseline for quarries she would and wouldn't take. Imperial remnants were a no-go as were bounties that he'd doled to the Mandalorian. Given that she still owed Mando a debt, she was not keen on digging the hole further. Additionally, Asa had declined many high paying bounties when her Chi screamed in opposition. Karga poked at her, stating that ' _Mando will take them_ ' as if there was a deeper rivalry between them when there wasn't. Asa respected the Mandalorian and wanted nothing to do with him. Honestly, Mandalorians were bad news and she regretted owing a debt, but that was the way of the Bushido.

"Ronin!" Karga greeted animatedly, slapping the table that he habited since their original meeting. Asa wished it was raining now, she loved the petrichor and humidity in comparison to the heat that leeched all moisture from her, despite the folds of her kimono making an attempt to covet it. "How was your hunt?"

He didn't actually care as long as it was successful. "Ready for offload," she retorted, glancing around the sparsely populated common house. Honestly, this was one of the few rare times she'd noticed that it was this empty.

"Are you staying around for some sabacc?" Karga chatted idly, thumbing the breast pocket on his robes, eliciting her attention. Eyes tracing, she noticed the outline of a rectangle, perhaps metal, but she couldn't say.

"Depends. What do you have available?"

Her heart was humming with a caustic rhythm, searing with each thrum as she stood, unable to hear the meaningless words the Guild Master was gracing her with. Instead, the hairs on her arms raised and she drew a shuddering breath, an invisible force laying against her shoulder blades and chest, stealing the air from her chest and threatening to strangle her. _Something was coming._ Given the disconcerting method in which her Chi screamed, she was not willing to stick around to see what it was.

Karga had pushed a few fobs in front of him, mentioning something about the Guild lolling into an even pace and the pucks would only pace decently rather than the typical rate. Given how uncomfortable Asa was with her Chi smothering her, she swiped them up without listening to where she might have to go. "Deliver my credits to my ship. I'll wait for the offload," she instructed sternly, interrupting yet another of the man's infamous tangents as he brimmed with excitement.

"Happy hunting, Ronin!"

Now _that_ was strange. Pausing halfway through the cantina, Asa craned her neck to glance back at the humming man. Karga had his moods, but very rarely had he ever been so earnest in his wish for 'happy hunting'. He was practical, not fanciful. Today must have been a spectacular day for him to be wishing her a successful hunt. Such chimerical encouragement was never needed for someone like Asa. She turned in her fobs within the allotted time frame and had never required 'luck' in order to do this. Given how foul her luck was, Asa was glad she was capable of acquiring her quarries. Most weren't talented in fighting and her upbringing had been in both academia and warfare. Jakon prized itself on being a civilization prepared for any challenge, be that battle in scholarly, artistic, or war pursuits.

Rather than thank him, Asa ducked her head and ignored him. Not because she was partial to being rude, but between the disquiet of her Chi and the oddity of Karga trying to imbibe luck in her favor, Asa was frowning beneath her mempo.

Usually, she might wait until the cryo slabs were unloaded, but the trembling cacophony of Chi propelled her legs out. No way in the galaxy she was sticking around while her body screeched in dismay. Rather, she carved the familiar path across Nevarro City, the only settlement on this awful planet, and her cursed prison stuck in a distorted ground hog's day rendition of hell, constantly on repeat. A headache seared in the back of her head, which she couldn't abate by touching her brow with the mempo on. Growling, her strides lengthened and she made haste back toward the _Ryu_.

"Ronin!" A vaguely familiar modulated voice entreated her, a rich baritone tainted by the metallic ring of the mechanics in his helmet. She had only heard it a few rare times and never in length, as the pair barely had reason to exchange conversation. Truthfully, Asa was somewhat terrified of the Mandalorian. He was a mountain of steel, only a few inches taller than her when she was in full regal, but he wasn't playing at what she had for nigh on a decade. He was the ruthless bounty hunter who'd take any quarry in, whereas she had restrictions. He was an absolute murder machine. And he was standing just a few paces behind her.

Thanking the God-beasts for her mempo, she swallowed hard and craned her neck to glance back at him, skin paling. The glare of the sunlight caught on his new armor, entirely of beskar, imbibing the unpainted silver steel with a bright reflective glow. Had her mempo not been translating the light through a filter, she might have been momentarily dazzled by the man, who was now a stunning suit of Mandalorian pride.

"Your debt."

Asa's heart skipped a beat as she gazed out from beneath the rim of her rice-hat. Even if she was disgraced, she still upheld the values of a samurai, just as her father had raised her to do. A life without any guidance was not a life at all, but simply an existence as a ghost. Despite the lucrative business that Asa now found herself in, she'd always followed her tenets. Repaying debts was one of those, recalling the snarling visage of the Wampa as it threatened to bear down on her with massive, clawed paws - to rip her limb from limb, crack her bones to drink the marrow, and feed on her flesh. Asa was about to commit seppuku to escape the pain of that demise when the Mandalorian's pulse rifle boomed so loud that she thought the entire cavern was going to collapse.

Asa had been about to die, but the only tell from that day was the ragged scar down her right armor where the Wampa's claws had snatched at her.

"I require payment."

_Of all the fucking times._

Her Chi had relaxed, the eye of the storm giving her a momentary reprieve from the mystery that had upset her originally. The war drumming of her heart quieted and she stared toward the abysmal T visor of her counterpart. Two years had passed since she offered the life debt and now he was coming to collect. There was no way that Asa could refuse, even if that meant going against what her Chi was urging. A debt was a debt and could be collected when and wherever. Asa could not set the terms.

"Very well," she finally offered, her voice quiet, her vocoder transitioning her own mellow voice and making it grit like sand beneath a boot. "What do you require of me?"

"Assistance," he retorted curtly, but betrayed nothing farther. "You are not fond of the Empire?"

Not fond? The Empire that had taken her father, her people, and subsequently ravaged her home? "That's a good way to phrase it," she snorted, modulator crackling at the edges of her wry laugh, the shrugging of her shoulders more indicative of the chuckle than the noise.

"There are remnants here. They have something I want."

An arched brow was poised at no one, as her mask didn't move with the expressions her own haggard face made. Rather, she let the laziness slip into her posture as she leaned back and tapped her thumb on the pommel of her sword, tinkling the charms. "A debt may be paid in any way you see fit," she started, eyes raking over the line of the man's shoulders trying to glean more intention. "However, this seems to fall short of a life for a life." Alternatively, she would still owe him if it were as simple as killing a few Imperials. Hell, she would have done that for free.

"The Guild might have a few words with us after."

Ah. Well, now that made more sense. This mission, even for any of the other hunters who greatly disliked the Empire, would not stake their livelihood on helping Mando. Especially since many of them loathed him. Asa still had enough wits to be afraid of him and what he was capable of, but exhaled deeply enough that he caught her sigh this time. "A debt must be paid," she relinquished, wondering if her life would always chance chapter by chapter, decade by decade. Somehow, as she just passed 30, she had a feeling her body was going to begin rejecting change. Maybe it was time to get out of the bounty hunting business.

He nodded, swiftly spinning on his heel to do an about face, leaving for Asa to follow. Daylight still shining down on the city, locals milled about and stayed clear of the leery pair. A throng of distance was set between them, an invisible buffer of at least six feet maintained more by Asa than Mando. Cutting a corner into a narrow, shadowed alleyway, she was forced to close some of the space, half wondering if Mando was going to just kill her here and dump his last bit of competition out of Nevarro into one of the neighboring waste bins.

 _He could have done that on Hoth and he didn't,_ Asa reminded herself, grip still tight on her katana as she followed me into the belly of Nevarro City. With the sun dipping on the horizon, the light couldn't claw its way in between the tightly packed walls and doors. A cloak of shadows played between the walls, dancing mutely on the back of the Mandalorian's grey bucket. His cloak obscured the rest of his shiny retinue, dashed by the pulse rifle that was most certainly taller than her.

The Mandalorian was not a huge man, not in height. Being just a few paces behind him, Asa spent more time observing him than she had cared in the past, worried that he would notice her staring despite the anonymity of her mempo. He was seemingly average, his boots and helmet adding an additional inch or two, shoulders broadened by his armor just as her own made her look impressive. This was no illusion, as hers was, for the Mandalorian's armor accentuated his vitals and protected them, the beskar layers thin in comparison to hers. Despite the added padding, the Mandalorian was broad, lean as a whip, and didn't require another head of height to strike fear into any who glanced over at the impassive, nebulous T visor.

Coming to the end of the alley, Mando paused and glance both ways like a child about to cross a busy street. Warily, he continued after taking a right. Asa had never bothered coming into the city, not this deep, and she expected if her mempo wasn't filtering the air she would be able to smell the metallic reek around her. From parts to trash, inner Nevarro City was a rotting cesspool and they didn't pass so much as a soul on their secretive mission - which aside from killing Imps and acquiring something, she had no idea what it entailed.

He bent over a dumpster of scrap and Asa dared to move within a pace of him, glancing down to where his visor was set. Within was an eggshaped container, the white paint chipped and flaked, lid open. If she had to guess, she'd say it was a repulsor lift of a sort, but it was tiny and akin to a bassinet. A soft song played from the dumpster, eliciting enough of her attention that she bent down past him to touch it. Gloved fingers met durasteel and the music hitched, a gentle clarinet weeping in her ears. Chi. She knew it, as anyone with Chi had a song of their own. Otherwise, the only time she heard Chi in the form of music was during great strife or occasion, like the day that the Empire had attacked her people, the maddening roar of their death march vibrating in her brain.

"Come," Mando ordered, snapping away from the discarded pram and for a fleeting moment, she thought she noticed his shoulders sag as he released a belly deep sigh.

They scaled a building in the dull sunset light, the blue sky being chased by cotton candy pink and coral orange, turning the puffs of cloud into candy. Despite all that Nevarro lacked, there were redeeming moments - probably because she couldn't smell the sulfur, but the sky had always been a fixation amidst the obsidian and ozone.

Mando had his rifle propped against his shoulder, laying prone as she daydreamed and got away with it since he couldn't see the misty expression on her face. A solemn tap to the side of his helmet and he was listening to a conversation she couldn't hear, glaring down the infrared scope as Asa wondered what the cottony candy clouds tasted like. It had been absolutely forever since she'd had sweets like back on Jakon. She missed the red bean paste fillings and the true taste of green matcha instead of the cheap imitations she usually got her hands on.

He drew the rifle back, his thumb having been subconsciously tracing circles against the barrel as he listened on. A strange quirk that Asa noted; an odd little bit of comfort the man tried to instill in himself as they worked on recon.

With their feet back on the ashen soil of the street, they approached a dark teal door which was streaked with lines of grimy rust. The roads were never truly quiet, the din of the busier sectors a dull hum like a hive of busy worker bees who just weren't occupying this sector of the combs.

"Wait here," he directed, gesturing to the alley flanking the door.

Asa leaned against the wall, hearing the sharp rap of his fist plunking against the door, before a click and whizzing was accented by the crunch and crackle of frayed mechanical equipment. Stomping back in her direction, Mando tossed the droid's retinue on the ground and grabbed his weapon, tilting his helmet in an unimpressed manner at her candor. With the gust of an invisible wind, her muscles let out a wistful bellow and she stood up straight, reaching down toward her obi as the premonition of battle whispered delicately in her ears.

"Check the perimeter," icy fingers raked down her back like the claws of the Wampa, the poorly modulated voices of stormtroopers causing a seething rage that laid dormant for so long to come bubbling to the surface, chasing away the unpleasant chill with searing wrath. Asa did not wait for Mando to make the first move, her body moving on its own accord as the curve of her blade left the ornate sheathe.

Mando was more interested in placing a detonator than dealing with the pair of stormtroopers that had come out to scout the source of the original noise. Her approach was covered by the boom of the bomb, the browned armor of the Imps akin to weathered parchment as they turned tail and sprinted back into the building.

She was the wind through the mountains and trees, flowing as gently as a brook but could possess the ferocity of a raging river, and she was swift like flame, crackling down to embers until she was stoked with fuel. Now, she had plenty of fuel, sliding up behind the troopers who were distracted by the flashing lights, electricity guttering to just the dull winking of the emergency lighting, as many synapses and circuits had been fried in the explosion. None noticed the flap of a crimson kimono, nor the nonexistent click of her sandals as _Amagumo_ arched, the bolts of lightning rippling gold in the flashes of sputtering light.

Katanas were made for slashing, not puncturing. Wielding one correctly took years of practice, being keenly aware of the perfect manner to arch the curve of the steel in order to achieve maximum rending capacity. Asa had always been more inclined toward the blade versus her siblings. Haku had preferred blasters. Kit with a sniper rifle. The ancient blade of their people was a symbol and tradition and rarely utilized in battle except for those who were blessed with strong Chi, like the Jedi. Otherwise, the piece of metal was useless unless utilized in close quarters.

The first figure slumped, plastoid parting like butter beneath a heated blade. Unlike a lightsaber, Tamahagane did not cauterize, and blood spurted in a macabre fountain as the neck and head slowly slid off as the body finally crumpled to its knees. Rounding on her, the second trooper raised his rifle in defense, gasping as _Amagumo_ savagely bit into his blaster and severed it in half. With a crescent flourish, the tip of the curved blade slipped up and drove into the gorget of the trooper, _Amagumo_ drinking its fill as the Imperial soldier gurgled and choked on his own blood, crimson basking the blade in a hellish curtain as it slowly dripped down toward the hilt.

Mando was in the hole that he had blasted, watching her fight as she withdrew her sword and wiped the blood of her enemies off on the bottom of her robes. Wearing red meant that her foes could not see the blood, be that her own or that of her enemies. By this point, Asa was so accustomed to the gore laden displays and paintings she created that the garnet pools that she stepped through had little effect on her.

A flanking door opened and Mando's helmet whipped, an arm snapping out with such precision and swiftness that Asa barely had the time to blink before the room grew hot with the light of his blaster and the trooper flopped to the floor in a plastic heap. Of course, she had known that the Mandalorian was good, but aside from their encounter on Hoth she had never seen him in action. Just the speed such a broad man moved in set her teeth on end, wondering if she would have been able to dodge or parry the hipfire had he rounded on her. Kriff, just thinking about it made her skin pallid and a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck.

Listing through the dull grey, medicinal halls of the building, Mando took the lead, as she was here as support and had no true idea what the 'thing' he wanted was. A haunting song played in her ears, which she tried to swat away like annoying gnats, but the clarinet's vibrato grew louder, but not in a good way. Instead, the melody quavered as if the musician was taking constant, trembling breaths with the inability to fill their diaphragm properly. Cool dissonant melodies, minor thirds and tritones, there was no musicality - just noise. Something was very wrong with the person who the song belonged to.

Mando knelt just on the other side of a doorway, lifting his vambrace, and shooting his whipcord launcher. Jetting out like a javelin, the forked tongue on the end hooked into the edge of a trooper's rear chestplate, the Mandalorian utilizing the leverage of his kneeling position to jerk the soldier down, retracting the grappling hook as the trooper slid back, disoriented and right into the vibro-blade waiting in the Mandalorian's other hand.

Without even glancing in her direction, Mando dropped the body and continued prowling forward. Asa paused just to glance down, grimacing at the precision of the kill. Despite being freaked out by it, she found herself highly impressed with how streamline the man's kills were. He didn't dally or take solace in what he did, rather he just pummeled through with honed experience.

She was a few paces behind him when he shot open a door, fire returned and actually finding purchase as his shoulder jerked back after his pauldron caught the brunt of the attack. While the trooper had been reacting in self-defense and in light of a Mandalorian being inside his station of duty, she knew Mando was pissed. He shot the soldier square in the chest before glaring at the spectacled doctor who tittered nervously in the corner.

If seeing a Mandalorian breaking into his lab wasn't intimidating enough, the hellish lowlight glare on her own mask made him even fainter, gripping the side of the gurney he flanked as she stared. What was this? She raked her eyes over the uniform the doctor was wearing, clearly of an Imperial officer, his hand flying out as Mando turned the barrel of his handgun toward him.

Asa couldn't hear the conversation between them, her head slowly turning as the clarinet's pitiful solo warbled in her ears. Her legs carried her on their own accord, hat tilting downward as she gazed at the source of the song. Not an adult, but a tiny green child that was unconscious and strapped into a whizzing medical machine. " _Ā ko_ -" _oh, child_ \- she whispered, reaching to smooth over the fronds of fuzzy white hair on top of a wrinkled brow. Despite the youth, she knew that this being was much older than appearances betrayed.

"Don't touch it," Mando snapped at her, forcing her hand back as he pried the machine off the baby.

"It's a baby," Asa retorted defensively, whipping her mask up toward him to challenge the Mandalorian for the first time. "You do not know what it is."

"And you have a better idea?" he growled, leveling his blaster toward her abdomen, daring her to do any more than what had been agreed upon.

" _Hai_ , I do, Mandalorian," Asa hissed back, but there was no time for them to argue, her Chi kicked her heart rate, plunging what had been a steady pace to a shockingly dormant state. Pupils blowing beneath her mempo she cocked her head. "We don't have time for this. More are coming."

Mando grunted his agreement and turned his blaster away from her.

"Protect the _ko_ , I will take the lead," Asa knew that the only place they'd be able to go next was the space-port where their paths would diverge and they'd leave Nevarro for good. Still, when she glanced at the little bundle of canvas, she knew deep in her heart that she could not leave the baby with the Mandalorian in good conscious. Her father had once told her that her Chi would guide her and now she stood beside a child with such strong abilities that she'd heard his song from across the city.

Thumb tracing the ribbons on _Amagumo_ , her free hand brushed her obi where a few other weapons were stashed. A metallic cylinder was inconspicuously tucked beside her shoto, a weapon that she'd not touched since she had acquired the title of Shogun. This was not the weapon of a samurai, but as her Chi bellowed in her chest, she knew it might be time to wield it finally. _Amagumo_ had served her well, but her time as a samurai was coming to an end.

The child needed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to our awkward Jakonan bounty hunter! I really wanted to give insight into her brain and the fact that her 'reservation' and 'mysteriousness' is because she's lowkey panicking in silence beneath her mask. Ironically, people just assume she's stoic like Mando, when in truth she's a bundle of anxiety. 
> 
> Also yes, Hooked on a Feeling by Blue Swede is now canon and she was totally singing it in her ship.
> 
> Just a few fun tidbits about her: Asa is a middle child, she's 30, and I imagined her faceclaim being Adeline Rudolph.


	4. Hara-kiri

Rain drummed against the windows, a warm light playing through the paper walls as Asa scrutinized the holo-scrolls in kanji. One year had passed since her father's departure and one year since she had taken the position as Shogun of the Shand House. Asa was 17 years old, heir to a throne she had no ambition to rule, and plagued with constant outcries in light of the war that was looming on the horizon. Jakon was a newly liberated planet, beneath the gauntlet of the Empire, and suffering in stride. While the faces of her people were still calm masks, collected pools of tranquility, she was keenly aware that behind the closed doors of their homes - they wept.

And Asakaze felt hopeless to help them, barely more than a girl herself, and with no proper master to teach her how to hone her abilities with her Chi. For the gifts that the God-beasts had given her, all it had done was thrust responsibility she was not prepared for onto her desk. Not even the monks knew what to do with her, their training pattering out like the passing storm outside. Chi was rarely this developed and in the years past, children such as herself would have been taken by the Order. Now that they had fallen, Asa floundered in her abilities, searching desperately for a solution without drawing attention to herself.

Now her fingers shook as she held the holo-scroll, which depicted the massacre of the Temples. Unbidden tears soaked her face, remembering the wizened countenance of the Chi-Masters and their students. According to Imperial Mandate, they were utilizing _'The Force'_ without merit or permission, resulting in a purge. Asa knew that the monks had declined any propositions to work for the Empire. They worked for no one other than the Jakonan people and even so, Asa considered their assistance to be only on the whim of the divine. The monks were oracles and religious guides, not Jedi. Swearing oaths to never harm life in any form, they were brilliant reflections of light and purity. Now their blood tainted the Temples of the God-beasts, running down the mountain paths where they dwelled.

The Empire might not see any problem in what they had done, committing genocide after genocide, but to Jakon - the Gods had been angered and a peace of their culture ripped from the soil and stomped on until nothing remained of the beautiful flowers that once buried their roots deep.

Asa already hated the Empire, but this was a step too far and the other Shoguns had to realize this. How could they turn a blind eye to the killing of the monks?

But they did.

Being the youngest Shogun on Jakon did nothing to help her. Instead, it burned her on multiple occasions because her intellect and decision-making was brought into question given her youth. Despite not getting along with the other Shoguns, they never once thought of betraying her talent with Chi to the Empire. After the loss of the monks, any Chi was coveted more dearly than any gem or form of currency. Even if the leaders of Jakon had qualms with one another, they still banded together to form Tamahagane links in a chain, promising never to break when it came to the survival of their culture and people - to include Chi.

"Shand-sama," a voice broke through the thin doorway, a paintbrush poised between her slender fingers as she wrote a haiku. "There is a visitor here for you."

Unannounced? Audience with a Shogun required proper scheduling and Asa rarely had time to herself. A bitter note blossomed in her chest as she grit her teeth, wondering who had the audacity to bother her without prior notice. Between the haze of her growing irritation, she heard a strange noise - music. Not actively being played by a musician, but a lilting calling card that she'd only heard before from the monks and they all had the same calming gong accented tune. This was different, calm but foreign - the rising tremolo of a harped instrument dancing playfully with the ringing undercurrents of other harmonic strings echoing the overtones. Strange, but beautiful, and strong.

"You may let them in," she decided finally, drawing in the loose white kimono she had been sitting in, turning on the sitting pillow where her legs had been neatly tucked beneath her. The door to her room slid open and a woman stood in the doorway, her short silver hair flipping up around her collar and the nape of her neck. Determined cerulean eyes were set on an aging face, but what caught Asa's attention was not the handsome female's features, but the belting song around her that declared loudly what Asa gleaned. "Jedi."

In robes of discreet brown, the battle song of the Jedi made her heart thrum erratically, cheeks flushing as she finally met one of the fabled warriors of legend - the warriors who wielded Chi in a different manner from herself. To Asa, Chi was a part of her and everything she did, often translated to her ears in the form of music and feelings in her chest, revolving around her pulse which could be compared to a metronome. Jakon was a musical place and like many others, she had been raised with an instrument in one hand and a sword in another. Asa played the wooden flute or shakuhatchi.

There were many parallels between the Jedi and the Jakonan, but their paths diverged in the belief of where their powers came from. History told Asa that the God-beasts had bestowed their divine abilities on a chosen few, many of which became prevalent Jedi, but others who lived to be messiahs for their people. Jedi did not believe in the same attachment that Jakonans did, so the disagreement between Chi and the Force developed and despite strides in scientific research and midichlorians, Jakon was stubborn in their belief system.

"Greetings," the Jedi bowed her head respectfully, keenly aware of Jakonan customs, though not being amongst their people - Asa felt it should have been her bowing. "I am honored to be in the presence of a Shogun. I apologize for my unannounced arrival, but I'm afraid I could not make my presence known."

Asa stumbled to her feet, face betraying her in an instance as she nearly tripped over her own robes just to shakily approach her tea table and pour two cups. Trembling hands, which should have been slapped for how sloppy she was, spilled a few droplets on the polished wood as she slid one steaming cup across from her and entreated the Jedi to sit with her. "Please, do not apologize. You are welcome as a guest in my home. Please-" she insisted, gesturing to the ornate pillow on the other side of the table.

The Jedi knelt across from her, the tailoring of her robes so similar to the fashion of Jakon. On her obi, Asa observed the trademark cylinder weapon; a lightsaber. Knowing eyes slid over her as she reached outside the confines of her sleeves to lift the smooth tea cup delicately, cradling it gently, before bringing it to her mouth. Asa clung to her wits desperately, fingers tightening on her lap as she wondered what a Jedi would be doing here of all places. This Jedi was putting themselves at risk considering that Jakon was beneath the thumbnail of the Empire and Asa technically answered to their whims.

"I am Ka-Moon Kholi," the Jedi betrayed eventually, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she smiled ever so slightly. "I came as swiftly as I could after hearing about what happened at the Temples."

Asa's lower lip trembled and she nodded solemnly, holding her own cup, the heat of the tea warming her palms as she glared into the reflection, a few pieces of her dark hair scattering around her young face. "Yes. Truly, one of the worst days in Jakonan history."

"Yes," Ka-Moon agreed simply, tilting her head to the side to inspect the girl. "Before the demise of your holy temples, Master Rensei reached out to me. To inform me about you."

Master Rensei was amongst the elder monks in the Temples. He had been her mentor in her youth, walking between the koi ponds lathed with mist, crackling softly like the embers of a fire as he explained life and how Chi moved throughout all existence. Asa had spent years visiting those mountains a few weeks at a time, but her own status as daughter of a Shogun had prevented her from making the true transition of being a monk. His weathered face, snow-white beard, and winking black eyes were burned into her memory. Master Rensei had been a pure soul with the most soothing song she'd ever heard.

"Did you know, that Master Rensei was once a Jedi?"

The question threw Asa for a loop, brows snaring together as she glanced up toward Ka-Moon, whose face was a tranquil as a zen garden pond. "No, I did not..."

"You are young, too young to remember Order 66," she cleared her throat and set the cup of tea down. "You were little more than an infant and Master Rensei had been sent here, to Jakon to retrieve you for training. Force willing, his covert mission saved both of your lives, and he hid under his moniker of Rensei-"

Pieces of the puzzle were fitting together and Asa's jaw slackened as she comprehended Ka-Moon and what had happened. "The Empire didn't kill the monks because of their Chi," she realized, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"No, the monks, while gifted with the Force - _ahem_ , respectively Chi, were not talented enough to make Jedi. They posed no threat to the Empire, especially given their abhorrence for violence. Scrutiny fell upon the Temples because of Rensei," Ka-Moon betrayed sorrowfully.

Asa did not know what to think, because in light of this information, she was uncertain whether or not she should hate Master Rensei for playing a hand in having all the monks killed or cry because yet another Jedi had been murdered. Mind racing like fathiers along a track, she fumbled over her next words, "W-why did he stay?"

"To train you, of course. A child with untapped potential can go one of two ways - their abilities fade to nothing or events throughout their childhood lead them toward the path of Darkness," Ka-Moon explained evenly, taking another silent sip of tea. "Jakon is fortunately a culture where mysticism and the divine is exalted, so training you in the privacy of the mountains never elicited any unwarranted attention. The people of Jakon have been allies with Jedi for thousands of years, even helped us forge our original blades of Tamahagane before the lightsaber was developed. Many of our mannerisms, our methodology, and culture is linear to Jakon's development. To put it simply, we are two varying sides to one coin - different, but utilized the same."

The enigmatic manner in which Ka-Moon spoke reminded her duly of Rensei and that made her head pound with the forewarning of a headache. Often, subjects were darted around and speech was exchanged on silvered tongues and honeyed words for sake of appearing eloquent. Asa had always found this to be irritating, long winded, and easy to misunderstand. While pleasantries and courtesies held their own positions in conversation, these elusive connotations were lost on her.

"Please speak plainly. Why are you here?"

"To resume where Rensei left off."

Early evening light had cascaded over the city, a blue curtain which painted the concrete buildings with a grey stroke, the blackened marks of weather more clear. Pale yellow lights winked on the sides of buildings, nondescript, not ornate, and suited for function over appearance. That's all Nevarro City was - function for survival. Strolling down the road with Ronin in tow, Din weighed heavily on his conscious what had occurred within the Client's hovel and in the lab. Apparently, the Jakonan knew about what the child was, which was considerably more than him.

Even if the Ronin was a bloody hurricane with a blade of crackling lightning, over the course of the few hours working beside them, Din was beginning to realize that the Ronin was much softer than he originally pegged. Not soft in a manner that meant they were weak, but simply that the samurai contemplated situations more than Din cared for. Being a bounty hunter often meant shoving aside feelings, chucking them into a pit, and covering the casket with those emotions with layer upon layer of dirt. Given Ronin's success in the Guild, he had expected them to be just as brusque and coarse.

They were not.

Just the astonishingly gentle crane of the samurai's head as the bent over the child, gliding a glove carefully on the infant's head had taken his breath away. For as intimidating as the snarling wolf mask was, the Ronin was filled with surprises under that kimono. He knew Ronin was no droid, he had seen them bleed before, but the frigid pillar and embodiment of the Bushido was not all that was there. The Ronin had not buried their emotions like him, instead utilizing the shield of their mask and modulator to front that appearance.

The crumbling stone archway that led out to Nevarro's poor excuse of a space-port shaded into view. His original request for Ronin's assistance was not because he didn't believe he would have trouble handling the Imperial remnants. No, he had a feeling that the Guild would light up like a beacon once he did this and he'd rather have a Tamahagane blade on his side rather than pointed in his direction.

With the debt that was owed, he expected that in exchange for delivering the child, he would consider the Ronin's end of the bargain fulfilled. Around them fobs blinked with crimson lights, hunters of all cuts of cloth prowling inward like massiffs to a kill. Blaster muzzles were pointed toward them - silver and red - amongst the pallid setting around them. Karga had already informed him that the rest of the Guild hated him for capturing the quarry and cashing in on the beskar. Since he wore what he'd earned, given the scathing looks he'd earned upon entering the den, he knew the armor was like a slap to the face of each who gazed upon it. The only member who hadn't taken the job was Ronin and thus, the only other hunter Din could even think about trusting. If the Ronin wasn't Jakonan and owed a debt, he would have doubted their loyalty too.

"Welcome back, Mando!" Karga's chipper voice boasted as he stepped into view, blocking the exit where the Razor Crest was sitting just outside the walls of the city. The Guild Master's brows shot up and he curved a rather displeased smile as he hooked a finger. "And Ronin!" The man was taken aback. "You know, I never expected to see the both of you working together," his attention slipped over to the samurai, sagging his shoulders in disappointment. "Ronin, Ronin, Ronin-" he chastised. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with this job."

Ronin was as still as a statue, only the rippling of their kimono indicating that they weren't hewn of stone. "I have no fob. I am getting no payment. This is not a job for me," they pointed out evenly in their rasping demonic voice modulating with a flinty ring as they finally moved to glance out at a few of the hunters that they'd played sabacc with in the past.

"Then what's in it for you?" Karga entreated, opening his palms and taking a step forward. "Don't throw your lot in with Mando. I know you better than this."

"I'm afraid you don't know me at all," Ronin sighed.

"I know you as honorable as a bounty hunters come, but know where your loyalties lay. I wouldn't wish to have to pick the bones of another Shand, especially considering what happened on Jakon a decade ago."

Din spared the slightest glance at his ally, who betrayed nothing as the wind whistled ominously around them. A Shand? What happened a decade ago? He knew the name, as Fennec Shand was an impressively dangerous assassin that had worked for the Hutts and other syndicates for years. Ronin was a Shand?

"If you know of my honor, then you understand I am not prone to flipping sides on request," Ronin countered tersely - bitterness. He knew voices being translated through a modulator well enough to hear the resistance in their speech, the disquiet at their name being freely tossed out in the open. Ronin had been on Nevarro for a decade and he'd never heard them be referred to as a Shand. There were likely reasons this had been the case.

Hunters were becoming increasingly bold and moving closer toward them, cutting the distance as the conversation erred on uselessly. Din knew what was going to happen. All of these bounty hunters were more than eager to put down him and Ronin - to finally rid themselves of the best hunters in the Guild so that the wealth of the higher paying quarries could be spread out.

"Well, I just hate to see it," Karga complained wistfully, pressing his palm against the blaster on his belt. "Put the package down," his eyes went back to Din, daring him to brush his holster while there were more than a dozen muzzles trained on him from behind. While his own beskar could take the brunt of the attack, he wasn't so certain as far as Ronin. A life debt, he may be owed, but that didn't mean that Din was going to willingly oust his counterpart and let them be lit up. That was not the Way.

"Step aside. We're going to our ships," Din answered, unflinching despite the precarious situation the pair was in.

Karga chuckled softly, nodding his head while he continued to warily watch the respective duo. The corners of his eyes crinkled in tandem with a tight-lipped, wry smile, "You put the bounty down and perhaps I'll let you pass. Ronin, just walk away and we'll forget this ever happened. My qualm is with Mando."

Ronin made no such effort, hands tucked within the thick sleeves of their kimono, standing vigil quietly.

"The kid's coming with me," Din declared obstinately.

"If you truly care about the kid, then you'll put it on the speeder and we'll discuss terms," Karga counter-offered, nodding toward the neighboring lift with an astromech tittering nervously as the driver.

"You speak of honor, yet gild your words in thinly veiled threats. How do we know we can trust you?" Ronin spoke, bringing up a rather fine point.

Undoubtedly, Karga was confident in the fact that the duo would lose and would rather not suffer any casualties which might impede Guild business. However, he had no intention of letting them just walk away. Unruly bounty hunters were trouble and even if they weren't killed outright, they would be sent packing.

Karga scoffed, "Because I'm your only hope."

They were both out in the open, exposed and ripe for the picking. As much as it scathed him to do it, the gears of his mind churning as he reached out and awkwardly pat Ronin, he did. Guiding the samurai beside him, his glove met the resistance of the armor the warrior had donned beneath, thick overlapping plates which - if they were at least durasteel - could take a good few shots from a blaster. They paused by the edge of the lift and the snarling mask curved toward him, inky pits glaring at him as a hand played near the edge of their sword, lifting the guard just enough that he could see the threat of black steel. Ronin was warning him that if he turned over the child, their conditions would be void. Somehow, that threat made him smirk.

_The honor of a samurai was not too different from that of a Mandalorian._

Din ripped his blaster out of its holster, whipping around to shoot the nearest hunter, red light flashing as he spun and leapt over the edge of the lift with a graceful flourish, cloak wrapped around him as he thumped onto the sled. His helmet lifted enough to see Ronin take a full on shot to the shoulder, grinding out a curse before finally moving.

"A warning would be nice!" Ronin roared irritably as they chucked themselves over the edge and into the lift beside him, kicking over a few crates to make enough room as gloves pressed into the charred bit of fabric where they'd been shot. Din felt a bit guilty for that, but didn't have time to contemplate it as they were hailed with a rain of blasterfire.

"Make yourself useful," he grunted.

"Might've been able to had I not taken a shot to my dominant shoulder!"

Din glanced up, realizing their arm was limp and the armor had not deflected the shot. "Fuck," he swore. "Can you shoot?"

Ronin nodded.

Sliding his pistol over to the other hunter, he unstrapped his amban rifle. Taking up position on either side of the lift, one facing 12 and the other facing 6, Ronin grunted quietly before beginning to volley off toward their foes. Leering down the retinue of his scope, Din began picking off hunters with his firearm, incinerating those unfortunately enough to fall between his crosshairs.

"Drive," Din glanced over at the droid, who shook its head in fear, chirping anxiously. "Drive!" The droid didn't balk a second time with the rifle pointed toward it. The next few moments became a roar of shots, cries, and pinging as shots deflected off of the durasteel edges that was just barely holding together enough to provide them shelter. He spared a brief look at his acquaintance, who was struggling to lay prone with a bum arm, the crimson kimono stained at the frayed, singed edges. Despite this, they could manage a blaster well enough with their non-dominant hand.

Their getaway tactic was halted when a well-aimed shot took the astromech, raining sparks around them as the lift sagged and skidded to a half against the pitted earth. Now they were sitting ducks, the remaining hunters prowling forward in the haze of the smoke from the defeated droid. Din rounded, taking up the rear in place of Ronin who was still struggling, proving to be more of a burden than asset. Lighting up the closest hunters, the others turned tail and started seeking cover from the hellish weapon he possessed. All that remained of those that were smited by the amban rifle, was a puff of cinders and fragments of cloth and leather.

"That's one impressive weapon!" Karga called from some corner he was hiding in.

"Here's what I'll do," Din broke his silence now that the road had gone quiet in lieu of him wielding the rifle. "I'm gonna walk to the ship, with the kid and Ronin, and you're gonna let it happen."

"No. How about this?" Karga bit back. "We take the kid, and if either of you try to stop us, we'll kill you, strip your bodies for parts and I'll have a shiny Tamahagane sword on my belt and a suit of beskar."

They were being ambushed, Ronin grunting and raising as hand just a hand closed around Din's boot. The offender was thrown right off their feet by an invisible force, tossed into the foe behind him, and chucked like ragdolls into the opposing wall where they didn't find their feet again. He had only witnessed a feat like this once before and the culprit had been the child. Scrambling to look at the kid, he noticed the gremlin was still asleep and it had been the Ronin's outstretched palm that had wielded the magic.

_"You do not know what it is."_

_"Hai, I do, Mandalorian."_

Creeping in to finish the kill, the other hunters started their pursuit again, Ronin weak from the effort and slumped with a noise that whined through the modulator on their mask. He had not intended on using this life debt to kill Ronin, especially when they might be able to answer questions about the child and its magic. Licking his lips, he sat up on his knees and engaged the flamethrower on his vambrace. Flames seared from his arm, spitting as if from the maw of a dragon, brightening the dark entrance road to Nevarro City, and pushing back the attack of his enemies. However, he'd not refilled the fuel before impulsively deciding to rescue the child. Guttering out as a candle would near the stump, he flicked his wrist a few times in a vain attempt to keep their lifeline from puttering. Half of him hoped that Ronin had more magic up their kimono sleeve, but the samurai was breathing raggedly.

This was it. His decision to try and rescue the strange green womp rat would end in the death of both bounty hunters. Crawling behind the cover of the crates, he glanced down at the slumbering face of the child and then toward where Ronin was slumped. "I'm sorry," he told them, before seeing the kid open its eyes, so dark and deep that his heart clutched in his chest at the realization that he had failed. Just as dark as the snarling wolf mask, which was listed to the side as the Shand said nothing in response. Strangely, Ronin looked so impossibly small in that moment.

A white comet streamed overhead, smashing into a hunter on a flanking roof, sending them tumbling down with a shrill cry. Din jerked his head up, just in time to see a triage of Mandalorians jetting over the buildings. What had once been an uphill struggle with no view of the end was soon swiftly turned onto its head. Sitting up enough to witness the carnage, the Tribe had come to defend him, cleaving through the weak formation of bounty hunters as if they were insects with no proper training. Utilizing their Rising Phoenixes to become too illusive to hit, the hunters were darting between targets, trying to find one mando lock onto before they zipped away. The weaving maneuver was disorienting and worked to its intended effect.

Din started to lay suppressive fire.

A heavy thud shook the lift they were situated in, the glint of yellow accented blue armor hazy through the evening light, brightened by the machine gun that Paz Vizsla brandished and mowed down the rest of the fleeing hunters with.

"Get out of here! We'll hold them off!" he ordered.

"You're going to have to relocate the covert," Din realized. They had a strict rule of only one Mandalorian up on the surface at a time and the entire Tribe was there fighting for him now.

Pausing from his firing, the heavy gunner stated, "This is the Way."

"This is the Way," Din echoed reflexively, snapping toward the child and Ronin. He scooped the baby up, but the moment before he was about to abandon them, he saw the shuddering rise and fall of the samurai's chest. "Ronin. Ronin. _Shand_!"

They snorted awake, muttering a slew of words in a language he did not comprehend. Gripping the samurai by their uninjured shoulder, he hauled them up, hoping they had enough of their wits to be able to walk. Stumbling off the lift after him, Din's assumption that Ronin was smaller than he thought was evident in how much they weighed, easily tossed around by his grip as he half-dragged them toward the Crest. After helping him, he couldn't leave the samurai to their fate, but his intentions weren't purely out of honor. Shand knew about the kid's powers and had the same ones. He dropped the dock to the storage shed of his ship, trying not to dump Ronin on the cold floor, but he needed to get them out of atmo before he could even consider offering them help. A shot to the shoulder would be non-fatal and hopefully the armor they were wearing had compressed the injury enough that they hadn't lost too much blood.

Ronin groaned as Din scraped them along the ground and deposited the crimson bundle.

Just as he was making his way to the ladder leading up to the cockpit, a set of footsteps dropping against the durasteel floor made him freeze. From his peripheral, Ronin was still unconscious on the ground.

"Hold it, Mando," Karga's voice demanded. Turning slowly, he faced the Guild Master who had a blaster aimed at his chest and flanked the crumpled samurai. "I didn't want it to come to this. _Kriff_ , the _both_ of you. But then you broke the Code."

"I broke the Code. Ronin never took the bounty," Din corrected as the blaster wavered from him and then down toward the defenseless hunter.

"Doesn't matter, Mando! Doesn't matter! The both of you killed over a dozen hunters-"

He shot his whipcord at the hydraulics on the cryo chamber, frigid mist hissing like a pack of hysteric snakes, filling the cabin with fog. Karga began shooting reflexively in the direction that Din had vanished, sloppy and without an idea of where he'd actually gone to. Lifting his blaster, Din pursed his lips. Karga had never been a friend, but shooting the man in cold blood also felt wrong. Either way, it was kill or be killed.

Karga grunted as he was thrown back with the impact of Din's shot, tumbling heels over head down the gangplank before Din stomped forward, closed the port, and booked it for the cockpit. There was little time to waste and perhaps too much had passed by this point. Flipping switches, engaging the engines, and gripping the controls to the ship, he made haste to get the hell off of Nevarro - hoping to any God in existence within the galaxy, that he hadn't gotten Ronin killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Not all lore is directly taken and regurgitated from Japanese culture, just wanted to add that disclaimer. I've also altered some to be more befitting of the universe and the story I'm weaving. It is not my intention to be insensitive or to pervert the culture, as I have nothing but the utmost respect for Japanese culture, which is why I enjoy bringing it to light in this form. A lot of the Star Wars universe/Jedi obviously derive from Japanese culture, so I wanted to harp on the similarities and differences.


	5. Ghost

While hours had not passed, each minute felt like an eternity as he willed the Razor Crest to go faster. The child had stirred and awoke to the cockpit, gurgling softly and glancing anxiously toward the cockpit door as if it knew that Shand was bleeding all over the floor. The moment that he was able to input random directions into the nav and punch the hyperdrive couldn't have come any sooner. Ripping up from his seat, he paused to contemplate leaving the kid there, and then decided against it - snatching the bundle of canvas up and dropping down below to where he'd left Ronin.

What he saw, he was not prepared for.

Ronin was propped against the wall, awake. Their dark rice-hat and mask had been thrown to the side, betraying a face he'd never glimpsed despite knowing them for a decade. Lids were pressed shut and Ronin's complexion was a few shades paler than natural, a cold sweat pressing against their features. Din had expected to see a weathered, wizened Jakonan man beneath the mempo. Instead, a youthful face of a woman caught him mid step. A round face with a pronounced jaw, high cheekbones, and deep set hooded eyes. Inky hair had been secured back in a braid starting at her scalp, always hidden beneath the hat and kimono.

The kid broke the spell, garbling with worry as he made grabby hands in the direction of Shand who was panting laboriously. Din yanked a neighboring drawer open, pulling all the medical supplies he had out, none of which included bacta. At this point, Din wasn't really thinking, his mind becoming a scattered jumble of thoughts as he knelt in front of her and tried to assess the trauma.

Pulling down the edge of the kimono, he saw the intricately folded armor that she donned beneath. The steel had been absolutely blown away, pits and chunks taking the brunt of a hit that should have taken an entire arm off. "Slug shot," she grunted, explaining how a blaster shot had found purchase through the layers. "Might've-" she stammered, pressing her eyes tighter. "Might've been just a burn if it was a normal blaster." _Might've_ actually killed her if not for the armor.

He made no remark on this, seeing the littered fragments of the shell that had punctured the creases between the panels of armor. "I have to take this off," he didn't like the idea of it, but Shand was nonplussed, riddled with pain to care much for modesty. His original worry was staved when he unstrapped the intricate armor and found she had another layer of clothing on beneath - a black kimono, thinner and not intricate in comparison to the crimson. He pulled it down just enough to see the trauma inflicted by the shot gun and grimaced.

Her golden skin had a constellation of metal litter and from the bruising, he was beginning to expect that her shoulder might have been fractured from the initial impact. All because he hadn't told her the plan or told her to get cover. Shand had taken a full shotgun shell to the shoulder - the one which she wielded her sword with - because of his haste to cover his own ass. He shouldn't have cared, but he did, especially as he watched her head tilt back and throat bob as she swallowed her pain at his probing.

"I have to remove the shell fragments," he told her slowly, realizing that her original lethargy was due to the shock, which still riddled her. Whatever pain she was enduring was enough to render her unconscious, but the blood had mostly been staunched by the pieces of steel still jutting out from her skin.

"Do it."

"Take these first. I doubt it will take the edge of the pain, but it might help later," he offered pain killers, her eyes fluttering open for a moment, revealing eyes so dark a brown that they appeared black.

She shoved them into her mouth with her good hand and thumped her head back against the ship as he started to pick the fragments out with a set of tweezers. Her tolerance was higher than he would have expected, only a few gruff grunts and considerable teeth grinding indicative of her misery. Utilizing his medical scanner, he confirmed that the shotgun had fractured her shoulder. Hairline fractures in her clavicle and scapula were the extent of the damage. Certainly, it wasn't going to be comfortable, but there was no full break. Perhaps some God had heard his prayer, because a shotgun could have done a lot more if Shand hadn't pulled away at the last second.

He cleaned and cauterized the open wounds, replacing the lacerations with angry red burns. Explaining the trauma to her, she gave a weary nod. "I'll probably need a sling to prevent movement and bacta if we can find it. Otherwise, I'll be in for a couple months of hell," she expected, blinking sweat out of her eyes to glance over at the womp rat that had been watching on with luminous, tear filled eyes. "Well hello there, little bean. I'm glad to see you're doing better."

Her tenderness was suddenly more glaringly clear. From the motherly way she brushed the child's head in the lab, to the refusal to let him hand the kid over. Even her prior mannerisms, from the soft-spoken words and the quiet observations - he wondered how he'd ever mistaken her for a man. And _kriff_ she was young. How old had she been 10 years ago when she joined the Guild? She had everyone, himself included, fooled.

"I can find something to make a sling," he grumbled, finding an excuse to get away from the two of them. Shand was in no condition to do more than sit around and he found that he trusted her near the kid. Gathering in his stomach like a rising storm, his guilt pressed heavy on his shoulders as he fumbled around for enough cloth to wrap her arm up to prevent her injury from moving too much.

When he returned, the child had climbed into her lap and curled up like a loth-cat, tumbling back into sleep after the fitful events of the day. "Thank you, Mando," Shand said discreetly, glancing up at him as he bent over to help secure the wrapping. She winced as he adjusted her arm, pinning it to her chest before tying the cloth off. "You could have left me. Probably would have been easier."

"You need to rest," he decided, utilizing the excuse to find a way to get away from her. Not because he necessarily disliked Shand, but because he felt distinctly uncomfortable in her presence. Many years had passed since he'd entertained any sort of company and his mind was beginning to do somersaults as he realized he was going to be stuck on a ship, with a woman and child, and one who was almost immodestly dressed now. The kicker? Shand was attractive and capable, his rival in hunting for a decade, which made his stomach do all sorts of confused flops as he stared down at her.

Tucking the child beneath one arm, Din hoisted Shand up. Too her credit, she did try to stand on her own, her kimono folding at her hips where the obi secured it, but paled immediately. Gripping her by her waist, as not to aggravate her fractures more, he latched onto her opposing bicep and helped wrestle her to her feet. And then she passed out - _again_. Overcome by the agony, she slumped forward and he had to drag her. Opening the hatch to his bunk, he removed the exterior, bloody layer of her attire and was relieved to find she had on black trousers and the robe-like kimono top beneath. After tossing aside the thick sandals she wore - which had been giving her a few inches in height - Din settled her against the cot and sighed.

Between the kid and Shand, he wondered what he had gotten himself into.

Hm, shotgun shell to the shoulder, not precisely her best day, but her right arm had seen better days. Honestly, this seemed to be a running joke with the galaxy - between the Wampa attack a few years back and now an actual _fucking_ slug shot, which were uncommon except for places like Tatooine where the Tusken Raiders wielded them. And she knew nearly the entire Guild, which meant that either that weapon was a recent acquirement or someone had it laying around with the intention of way day getting to blast Mando and she'd ended up being on the receiving end instead. _Kriff_ , how many people hated him for them to carry a slug thrower with the hope of cutting through the beskar? Her own armor was folded with durasteel alloy and it had rended beneath the savage impact of the close range blast.

_What if she hadn't been wearing armor?_

A question she did not wish to answer and even if she had utilized her lightsaber, deflecting the shotgun blast might have been even more catastrophic aside from the fact that she'd be ousting herself. _All the good it did me. I was too fixated on the child's song to realize how fucked we were,_ she thought tartly, stirring from her slumber and groaning as her entire right side felt as if it'd been kicked in by a bantha. Naturally, she tried to move and reach for a nearby canteen, biting her tongue and squealing in pain as she glared up at the ceiling and tried to get her breathing under control.

Some Jedi were talented in healing, Ka-Moon had never taught her these skills. Typically, a padawan had years under their master to learn the way of the Jedi. Asa had only three and since leaving Jakon, she had put those skills beneath her obi to prevent being discovered by the Empire. All she needed was more scrutiny to fall on herself, especially since the Empire had an entire team dedicated to sniffing Jedi out and flaying them alive if they didn't convert. The saber hilt had become a comfortable weight in her obi and even when fighting the Wampa, she had not drawn it. How different was it from _Amagumo_? Theoretically, not very. Both could cut just the same, but a lightsaber could deflect blaster shots and required an alternate form of combat that Asa had set aside with her fall from grace. Yet, she had wielded the Force to defend the Mandalorian.

The only reason she'd made the attempt for the first time in years was because of the goblin he had with him. Felt like an eternity since she had met someone else similar to her, but she sense the dissonant notes still plucking around the child, even from her prison in the claustrophobic tin can she was laid up in. Given that her head was on a pillow, she had to shimmy her way to the door, tilt up a socked foot, and press one of the glowing buttons to open the hatch. After it hissed, she let out a low breath of preparation, flexed her abs, and swung upward.

Asa screamed, redoubling in pain as she panted, grinding her teeth as her feet touched down on the edge of the floor and she swooned. A few thuds followed her exclamation and the ominous visor of the Mandalorian appeared just outside. Given her little attempt at getting up, she realized this must have been his bed that she'd occupied. He'd never had company while at the Guild, this must've been his ship, his home, his private lodgings just as the Ryu had been hers for the last decade.

And in her pained, delirious state, the most awful thing she could've said fell out of her mouth, "Been a while since I've been in a man's bed." To her credit, she grinned stupidly before wincing and cradling her arm. Not exactly the best choice of words for the Guild's finest hunter and mountain of beskar standing rigidly in front of her as if she'd called his mother a fat bantha. "S'joke Mando, a joke." She felt the disclaimer was needed as he continued to stare at her before his joint finally creaked.

 _Man, you're literally the most fucking awkward person in existence. Aren't you?_ Inner Asa nagged, cheeks stinging from the lack of acknowledgement of her words.

"You... have a fever," he decided, finding the medical scanner and registering a temperature of 102F.

That would probably explain why she'd blurted out the funniest thing she could say in an attempt to comfort herself and for the fact that being on the Mandalorian's ship was the last thing she'd ever wanted. Well, perhaps not that last, but it had certainly been on the bottom of her list seeing that she wasn't in the clear for not getting murdered by him. He didn't let her die, so she supposed that was a plus.

"Least I have that going for me," she grumbled disdainfully, brushing her brow in a futile attempt to see how hot it was. "How is the little one?" Distractions were great, especially since she was awake now. "How long was I out?"

Too many questions for the stoic Mandalorian. He'd never heard her talk that much and wasn't as if Asa was as reserved as he was, she'd just never had the opportunity to talk to him since they avoided each other like the plague. "It's fine. And two days."

Pulling the shoulder of her kimono down she caught a whiff of the freshly cauterized skin which had a sweaty, burnt stench. Grimacing at what she considered little more than a hack job, she gave the Mandalorian an unimpressed glance. "Don't suppose you have more pain killers?"

"Yes," curt, to the point, and turning away from her to get them as swiftly as possible. After rummaging, he brought over more pills for her to swallow along with her water. Despite the two days of being konked out, her stomach roiled like a cauldron of poison was brewing and she pushed her face against the cool steel of the door frame in a futile attempt to chase away the ill feelings. "You should rest more."

"I should eat too, but I don't think I'm going to be able to keep it down," she added with a frown, flitting her eyes back up to observe him. "What... are we going to do?" Asa only included herself because at this point it wouldn't be safe to return and acquire her own ship. She was an unintentional crew member with one of the last people she'd prefer.

Her lashes flickered and she gazed past the beskar wall in front of her. Moving around like an agile toadstool swaddled in burlap, the child that had compelled her to risk her life turned - as if on queue - and opened its mouth awkwardly to bare tiny capped teeth to smile. From the batty ears, to the dark eyes that she felt she could fall into, Asa returned the grin and chuckled softly.

" _Koko ni kite_ ," _come here_ \- she requested, opening her free palm to entreat the child. Asa was no stranger to children. The last decade had given her less opportunities to interact with them, especially from behind the imposing oni-mempo. Back on Jakon seeing to the children and future of the clan had been part of her responsibilities as Shogun. Teaching the youth was prized and it was fully expected that a Shogun would make multiple debuts in front of the children, taking over some lessons. Being a child herself back then, Asa had savored the days amongst the youngsters, envying the carefree life they had.

Whether the child comprehended Jakonan, she could not say, but he gleaned her meaning and tramped over, colliding with her pant leg. Claws dug into the fabric and he began to gibber energetically, his song lilting gently in her ears as she fixated on the tiny, wrinkly features of the gifted boy. "Do... you know what it is?" Mando's deep voice shattered the sweet moment between them. Unable to bend over to pick up or pat the kid, she let him scale her leg like a tree stump and hummed in contentment as he found his home on her lap.

"Like his race?" she posed, glancing toward the nebulous visor that she felt as if she could fall in to and drown. A lump formed in her throat and she hurriedly distracted herself with the baby that had found the bared satsuma pendant necklace around her throat. The pendant depicted a cherry blossom tree, like the one in the gardens of her home, craning over a calm pond. Choking for a moment as he tugged, her head was forced down so he could inspect the painted details on the ivory. "No, I have no idea what he is. His abilities on the other hand-"

"You have similar powers," Mando pointed out, nothing escaping his scrupulous T-shaped gaze. He had witnessed the miracle she had committed, the Force-push that had kept their enemies from pulling him off the sled.

"I do," she confirmed. "My people call it Chi, a vital force that is part of any living thing. The flow of it must be unimpeded for good health. There are some of us who have a better connection to our Chi and can wield it. For those who are not Jakonan, it is called the Force. Mame-chan is trained in the way of the Force - he is not Jakonan obviously," she raised her hand and twiddled his ear, amused by how it moved so easily - floppy like a bunny rabbit.

"So this... Chi-Force..."

He had no idea what he was talking about and that revelation made Asa's eyes widened before she let out the most ungodly, _ugly_ guffaw. Mame - the child which she had named 'bean' - glanced up and mirrored her behavior, letting out a rasping giggle. Oh dear, he was going to be trouble, but his keenness to follow her lead only made her laugh harder until she was shaking hard enough that her injury began to burn.

"The mysterious Mandalorian knows nothing of Jedi or the Force?" she managed between snickering, mirth dancing in her dark eyes as she felt compelled to look back up at him. This had been a mischievous jab, but when she observed the terse line of his shoulders, the sullen shifting of his weight, and the absolute silent response - her jaw unhinged. "Wait, you really don't?"

"You make this magic sound common."

"Right, it's not," she muttered to her chagrin, realizing that her culture had blinded her to the fact that the Force was not a household term. "My people tend to produce more... Force-sensitives. It is considered a blessing from the God-beasts on Jakon, but clearly other places in the galaxy also host such anomalies-" she booped Mame on his tiny nose, a sneeze accentuating the action. "And the Jedi were warriors who wielded the Force. Their Order fell decades ago and those who survived were ruthlessly hunted or converted to work for the Empire."

"Then you...?"

"How old do you think I am?" she groused.

"I didn't mean to-"

Mando was bashful, _embarrassed_ that he had suggested she was alive during Order 66. Well, she was, but she felt her original opinion of the Mandalorian cracking around the edges. Her perception had been that he was cold and ruthless - but again, that was wrong. He'd saved her once before, even without knowing she was a woman. Then, he'd dragged her onto his ship despite it being more efficient to abandon her. The fleeting idea that he might be half as awkward as her, because being a bounty hunter didn't result in many joyous conversations or opportunities to 'get to know people' - shocked her. Often, it was necessary to keep a hand on a weapon and have the walls up around fellow coworkers. Working in an underbelly profession crafted certain individuals.

Asa was fortunate enough that bounty hunting hadn't been her entire life. Mando had wielded the torch years before her and from the neat manner he kept his ship, she expected she was the first 'guest' he'd had outside of a cryo slab. Who was she to judge? Asa wasn't the poster child for social excellence. In fact, she'd already said an outrageously awkward thing just after waking up.

"I was a baby when the Order fell," she finally sighed, breaking up the stilted atmosphere between them. "I received formal training from Jedi, which is how I am more aware of what this one is. He has training of his own and he's strong." A hand hooked around her index finger and intelligent eyes swept up to mirror hers. Within the dark chocolate gaze, she sensed the minor chords and dissonance that had brought him to this point in his life. "He's old, but not," she said these words, though she didn't comprehend them.

"He's 50 according to carbon dating," Mando informed her.

That was not astonishing. Asa lost herself in the pools of the child's eyes, forgetting to breathe as he showed her snippets of his past. Blinking rapidly, she saw the Jedi temples on Coruscant, the blaze of a lightsaber, and confusion of his peers as they were savagely cut down. So many songs ended before they could crescendo into a proper war ballad like Ka-Moon's. Silence. Crippling, terribly ominous quiet followed.

"Shand?"

She sucked in air greedily as if it were going out of style. Innocent eyes gazed up at her, continuing to clutch at her as her brows scrunched together. So much pain in one so little, just as she had, he had experienced genocide firsthand. Despite the anxiety she felt being on the same ship as Mando, she did not regret her decision to go because of the child. The moment she had seen him, she knew that her Chi had anticipated their meeting. "He has seen awful things, but... I am not well versed Force-communication. My abilities are... different."

Ka-Moon had told her that the way the Force spoke to her was in line with her heritage and the musicality of Jakon. Due to the fact she had not been formally trained by Jedi from birth - only in small bouts with Rensei - her culture had formed her into an entirely different creation. The Force or her Chi, spoke to her in music, utilizing her heart to warn of premonitions rather than in the form of images and visions as Jedi preferred. Music left room for interpretation and was more fickle, which was why Jedi did not teach these methods.

Enlightening the Mandalorian on every kriffing nuance while her brain cooked with a fever was also not at the top of her to-do list. Having the green bean in front of her, worm his memories into her head wasn't pleasant, though it had not been his intention to hurt her. He sought companionship and understanding - someone who could comprehend his strife. She did not glare at him, but gave him a reprimanding look, warning him not to do it again.

He warbled quietly, ears sagging in defeat at her rebuttal, the entirety of their exchange observed by the beskar statue. "For now, our best bet is to lay low until this blows over," Mando interjected, obviously disquieted by the magic, but didn't press the subject any further. "Is Mame-chan his name?"

"Huh?" Oh, she'd given him a nickname without an afterthought. "No, it means 'bean' in Jakonan. Chan is a suffix typically used for babies and young children." Or adolescent girls, but in spite of the child's odd age, chan clearly fit the best. It was an endearing honorific and Asa had applied it naturally. "Do you know his name?"

"You named it bean," he stated plainly.

Was that horror in his modulated voice? Honestly, it was difficult to tell given how even he kept it - no, it was exasperation, breathy on the end and crackling with a little static. "It is a 'he'. He's like a little green bean, so yes, I named him bean. Unless you had a better name for him?" She was bantering with the Mandalorian over the name for a strange grandpa infant. _How_? Maybe this was a fever dream, because all of this was absolutely illogical.

"Bean?" he griped, flexing his gloves, leather squeaking.

"Mame-chan, unless you've got a voice stored somewhere in there, tell me otherwise," she propped the child up in her free arm and gave him a mischievous smile. Kids were always easier to interact with. She didn't have to worry about underlying motives and it was amusing to be impish in front of the other bounty hunter who clearly was in over his head.

Mame gurgled, accepting the name for now.

"See, our green overlord has decided." Stop talking, Asa. Stop.

Lifting him up like a messiah infant in front of a cult, he let out an excited trill and threw his arms up.

"Bow before the magic bean!"

Her proclamation made the child so thrilled that he screeched victoriously and Mando snatched him up - putting an end to their outrageous antics. "Go back to sleep, Shand," this time it was more of an order, as if her strange behavior could be played off simply by her wits being worn thin by her fever. Truthfully, Asa was more herself in that moment than she'd been before. While her sickness did affect her, it had removed her typical restraint and opened up the light-hearted Jakonan that lurked just beneath the surface of the mempo.

"Fine," she huffed, winking at Mame who was still ogling her with childish reverence. " _Ja mata._ " _See you._

Mame flexed his tridactyl claws in agreement, craning his neck up to blubber about her as she laid back down against the cot. Until this point, she didn't realize how uncomfortable it was, but now that she was awake she wondered how anyone could sleep on it. Which was ironic, seeing that her bed had always been a thick padded roll and a few blankets on the floor. But this hellish contraption was steel and a thin mat, a single beam holding the center and digging in to her spine. No wonder Mando was so stiff, his back was probably killing him half the time.

Despite her original fussing about not being able to eat or sleep, just blinking a few times and imagining counting falling sakura petals, she dozed off. Sleep was restless, trapping her in a fitful cycle of tossing, turning, and groaning as she put too much weight on her right side. A symphony of noise billeted her, powerful malevolent drums making her heart race, followed by the deep guttural bellows of low brass. Chills raked down her back with icy claws, images playing before her eyes as punctuated by the infernal miasma of horns baying indicative of a hunt. But for whom?

When she awoke again, Asa refused to go back to sleep, shivering beneath the thick wool blankets. Her fever had passed, but not the feeling that something nefarious loomed on the horizon, breathing down her neck in that tiny alcove that was the Mandalorian's bed. Distracting herself with that thought, she wondered yet again how he found this awful cot sufficient. In similar fashion, she wormed down the cot, kicked the controls, and slithered like a serpent right onto the floor. Utilizing the edge of the cot for leverage, she pushed against the small of her back and stood up.

The _Razor Crest_ was a pre-Imperial gunship, an old hunk of junk she'd got to glimpse on many arid afternoons in Nevarro City's 'space-port'. Inside, the ship was dimly lit by a few sconces that were set into the wall, casting a warm amber glow. Dark grey durasteel floors and walls, chased near the top by a dusty orange coating on the upper half. Two docks, one flanking the left side of the ship and another at the back intended for larger cargo to be loaded up into the storage area.

Beside numerous crates, carefully stacked and secured with netting was a low sitting table where her belongings had been placed in storage underneath. Deeper in the storage area near the large dock was a pull down durasteel work table. At the foot of the ladder leading to the upper portion of the ship, there was a fresher door adjacent to the bunk. A locked hatch was to the left of the bunk, which she expected was probably personal artifacts or weapons.

Trotting over to the table where her things were, she knelt down and pulled them out. Her fingers slipped over the crimson kimono, frowning at the gaping hole in the fabric where the slug thrower had blasted at her. The black attire she had on now would suffice on its own, but she had loved the ornate kimono for a long time and taken great care of it, repairing any tears or damage incurred. Wouldn't do her any good this time, the textile had been obliterated. Folding it carefully, she piled the kimono in a neat square before inspecting her armor. The layered sheets of her pauldron had been rended, peeled away like a can opener had haphazardly been taken to it. She didn't need to be a blacksmith to know that it was ruined and worth little more than the scrap it currently was.

Suppose I should be a little more grateful I still have my shoulder attached, she thought wryly, beginning to pick the tassels and charms off of the armor. No one had ever seen the armor underneath before Mando. Her face was another story. Not a single soul on Nevarro had seen her face, but she wasn't as disciplined as the Mandalorian. She had gone to places to take off days, wearing simple civilian clothing, and blending into the crowd of busy places like Canto Bight's casino or nicer parts of Coruscant to get her dose of sentient exchanges where she wasn't being treated like an abomination.

Separating Asa from Ronin had been easy enough to do, as many people had believed Ronin was a man. Now, the ragged shambles in front of her was Ronin's legacy, a bounty hunter who few dared trifle with, and as far as anyone was concerned - Ronin died during the exchange. If they were being tracked, the Guild would be searching for two highly identifiable individuals; a Jakonan samurai and a Mandalorian. Taking the ashen cloak, she sighed as she held _Amagumo_ \- her father's sword and his father's before that. Yet another piece of Ronin that was highly recognizable.

Pressing her brow to the ornate pommel, she removed the charms, consisting of a three-tailed laughing fox and a rain drop. Carefully, she bundled _Amagumo_ in the cloak and tied it off, little more than an oblong package instead of a sword. Aside from her sandals were a few other miscellaneous items to include her shoto - not made of Tamahagane. The wooden flute had always been stowed on her obi, another piece in her ensemble that had rarely seen use except in the confines of her ship. Now, she smiled wistfully to herself as she placed her pads over the finger holes. With her other hand pinned to her chest she wouldn't be able to play.

Grumbling, she put it on the table and fished out her mempo, rice-hat, and the slate-hued lightsaber hilt. Her attention fixated on the latter, running her fingertips along the intricate engravings, inspired by her favorite place on the Shand estates - the very cherry blossom she'd said farewell to her father beneath and the place where _Amagumo_ had drank its fill of Imperial blood. The decadent outlines of the petals cascaded across the steel, a wistful sigh shoving itself out of her throat as she stared at the weapon she never thought she would ever actually use. Now, with Mame, she knew that this would be the torch she took up before finding how he fit within her life. Honestly, a Jedi she might have been briefly trained to be, but she truly did not weigh their oaths in the same way she had followed the Bushido. Jedi, like Shogun, was a title she might possess, but it didn't sit properly.

From birth, Asa had been playing at different titles, never discovering the one that suited her.

Resigned to the path her Chi had guided her, she slid the hilt into her obi before wrinkling her nose. _Oh kriff,_ how many days had it been since she'd had a proper shower? Or eaten? Clambering back to her feet, she snapped her hand out to the ladder and hauled herself up into a small hallway. An empty carbonite storage shed greeted here along with two doors. One leading back toward the engines - likely a small storage area with access to the engineering access for the ship. Which meant the one to her immediate right led into the cockpit.

Did she want to do this? Bother Mando?

She was starving.

Opening the cockpit, her newest companion whirled around where he sat in a flanking leather seat, gobbling to announce her arrival. For as decently sized as the Razor Crest was, the cockpit was small, silver, and really only intended for one pilot and perhaps two passengers if people preferred to be crammed in like tuna in a can. In the center seat, the Mandalorian turned to glance at her from the peripherals of his visor. A beep on the dash drew both of their attention, her head tilting as the gears in her brain turned lethargically.

"Look-" but before Mando could warn her, the _Razor Crest_ completed her jump and snapped out of hyperspace. Unrestrained and standing on weak legs, Asa bowled right into the back of his seat.

Pain blazed white hot like a collapsing star in her right shoulder as she collided with the unmoving leather and slipped down to the floor in a heap, coiling in agony as she tried to blink the fading light of hyperspace from her eyes. "Dank farrik," she moaned, trying to snap back into her own body through the tides of anguish. "Please tell me wherever we are has bacta."

When she opened her eyes, she jolted to see the Mandalorian craned over her, kneeling beside her. Her heart was already pounding from her spill, but now the rate fluctuated erratically and seared in her ears. "Fraid not," he muttered to her dismay. "Sorgan. It's a backwater skughole."

"Never heard of it," she moaned, a hand easing her back up so she was now sitting. Bowing over at her hips, she panted a few times as she swallowed the last few waves of pain.

"Exactly. No industry. No space-ports."

No reason for anyone who wasn't local to go there. "If we've got a hot minute, maybe I can catch a shower and a bite to eat before we land? I didn't want to begin rummaging through your things, which is why I came up."

Respect. They had always been cordial about their exchanges until this point and Asa saw no reason for this not to continue. Their circumstances were absurd to say the least, but Asa knew it was not her place to begin poking her nose around Mando's ship. This was his home. She was a guest... or that's what she equated this weird situation to.

"Should take about an hour to land," he informed her astutely.

"Plenty of time. If you wouldn't mind just giving me a bit of direction..."

Mando nodded, gripping her elbow and helping her back to her feet. The assistance was appreciated, her body still upset over her adoring embrace with the back of his chair. He glanced at the child. "Stay here," he instructed, big google eyes plainly innocent, but Asa gave the kid a more knowledgeable leer. Leading the way, Mando clicked down the ladder.

Asa used her good arm to help herself down. "Mando, you never told me about where you found Mame-chan," she realized halfway down. "Or his whole stor- _HE_ -" her sock slipped and if not for her acquaintance watching warily, she might've smacked against her fractured shoulder once again. His hands snapped out and grabbed her by her waist before she fell the last couple of feet to the floor. Asa's damn soul nearly left her body as she turned into a limp noodle, shuddering at how close she'd come to enduring the cataclysmic pain again within five minutes.

"You're accident prone, aren't you, Shand?" he grunted, putting her on her feet and releasing her just as quick as he'd assisted.

"Wouldn't be standing here now if I was. This-" she gestured to her sling. "-is all courtesy of you, Mandalorian."

Instead of taking the lightness in her tone as a jest, his shoulders sagged. "I know."

Twitching at his confession, she brushed by him. " _Nanakorobi yaoki,_ " she recited. "It means: fall seven times and stand up eight. If you wanted me dead, I wouldn't be here. This is but a minor setback and could have been much worse. I try not to count my blessings, but I'm still alive." Though by any means, if she were a cat, she would be running out of lives quite soon if she kept up with this destructive path.

Mando had no rebuttal, striding over to a open a storage crate and dig out rations. Pausing, he decided to sit down at the low table where she'd tucked her folded belongings beneath. "The bounty was on Arvala-7. Do you know anything about it? I know you were unwilling to take it," he passed the rations over to her and Asa took a seat as well, shaking her head. The mountain of beskar began to explain what had happened during his time acquiring Mame.

Asa was silently wagering that this was the most anyone had ever heard Mando talk in one sitting. Quietly munching on the tasteless fuel, her stomach hummed contentedly. Not at all as wonderful as food from Jakon, but she'd long forgotten the highly palatable and unique flavors as she had to stay away from her home planet. Strangely, her original trepidation for Mando was beginning to slip like sand between her fingers. He wasn't that bad. If he were truly as ruthless as she had believed, he wouldn't have saved Mame and he wouldn't have dragged her onto his ship out of guilt of leaving her behind. Nor would he have fessed up to being the reason she'd taken a shotgun to the shoulder. He was tight-lipped, which was not astonishing, but now she didn't think he was unfeeling. Asa knew what it was like to hide beneath a mask and felt oddly refreshed by not wearing one now.

"Mame-chan lifted an entire mudhorn?" she gasped, imagining one of the enormous beasts and wondering if she had the juice to manage the same. Kriff, not without more practice and refreshing in her skills.

Mando nodded solemnly. "I couldn't leave him in good conscience with the Imps... not knowing what they were going to do to him."

He did have a heart, even if it was hidden beneath the tin can exterior and it'd taken him contemplation to act on it. "I have no clue what they might have wanted him for," she admitted, hoping that he didn't think she had every answer for the whims of the Empire in regards to Force-sensitives. "Just that they were hurting him. His song was so dissonant and weak."

"Song?"

"I can hear songs of other Force-sensitives. Each person has a unique one. I can also hear the songs of the future or when terrible atrocities are being committed. War is loud," she grimaced at the memories, particularly the fateful evening of her disgrace. "So the fresher is just right over there?" she craned around to point at the door, she might've stumbled in there a few times during her lurid fevers, but she didn't quite remember. "Also, I might need to clean these off-" she tugged at her robes for emphasis.

"There's an ion cleaner inside as well as a small closet with linens," Mando told her discreetly.

"Wonderful," now they were just sitting awkwardly, neither making the first move. "Well, then I'll just- you know-" Asa ducked her head and almost jumped up to run away. Balance was not her friend, but this time it wasn't her fault as she stumbled and regained her composure before she could smack into the wall. The ship had lurched.

"The kid!" Mando hissed, flying up the ladder and back toward the cockpit as Asa latched onto the wall in a struggle not to be rattled around. Of course their green overlord wouldn't sit contentedly while up in the cockpit alone. They were the idiots for leaving him there. Snorting to herself as the ship stabilized, she headed over to the fresher and faced her next plight: undress and shower.

Maybe it wasn't worth it. Standing and glaring into the mirror, she contemplated just being smelly if it saved her any discomfort. Her inky hair was abysmally greasy and laden with sweat. Her face was oily and eyes puffy. Maker, she looked awful and wondered if Mando had been hoping she'd put her mempo back on to save him from the horror show she'd become. Damn, there'd be no avoiding it - she had to clean off.

As if she were disarming a bomb, she carefully and slowly picked her way through her remaining layers, tossed them into the ion cleaner, and kept her arm close to her body to prevent too much jostling to her clavicle. No lancing pain, but rapt unease met her as her body protested, steam billowing up from the shower before she threw herself in and hastened to scrub the reek from her golden skin. Once they docked in Sorgan, she hoped to find a pair of boots to replace her sandals, a bit of fabric, thread, and a needle to repair the holes in her blouse, and if the God-beasts loved her they would give her bacta - but that last bit was hopeful wishing. A backwater planet was unlikely to have bacta.

By the time she was done washing, the ion cleaner had just about finished cleaning what clothes she had remaining. Putting them back on seemed even more difficult than removal and Asa jarred her shoulder a few times, grunting and huffing as she bumped into the wall. Not like she could ask Mando for help, that'd be weird. Struggle-busing her entire way through a simple task, she glanced at her last challenge: her hair.

Half of it had dried, but without two dexterous hands to work it, she wasn't going to be braiding it. With only her non-dominant hand to utilize, she found herself grumbling petulantly, before giving up entirely. Asa left her long hair down, despite the fact that it'd get in her way. If Sorgan was truly backwater, there'd be no worrying about a fight. Not as if she could wield any sword - katana or lightsaber - in her current state.

When she stepped out, Asa's patience was as thin as a toothpick. Mando had just dropped the dock to her immediate right, the mild air from the planet's atmo simmering her boil. This was the first time in a prolonged time that she'd breathed any air aside from the cities she would sometimes habit to take a break from bounty hunting. Otherwise, it was filtered through her mempo. Closing her eyes, she fell away from the Razor Crest, and thought herself back on Jakon during spring.

"You're going in that?" Mando shattered her reverie, turning around to glance down at her.

"There's a huge hole in my kimono," she reminded him grumpily, the respite vanishing at his brisk tone. Welp, there went any progress the two of them had seemingly made. Collecting her sandals, she slipped them on, feeling odd without the hem of her kimono brushing over them. Tucking a pouch of credits on her obi, she looked back to the Mandalorian. "Uhh, _you're going in that_?" she bit back snidely, hooking a finger at him. "One of us needs not to attract so much attention. We go walking in, two faceless bounty hunters, that won't go unnoticed. Would be better if you took the beskar off, but I think I already know how that'd go." The beskar wouldn't come off unless it was pried from his dead body. No one in the Guild had seen his face. Asa had no oaths to uphold and the mempo was intimidating. It had served another purpose amongst the Guild, here it would draw additional attention and Mando was shiny enough as it was.

"It doesn't come off," he retorted gruffly.

" _Hai,_ I assumed that. It's been a decade and I've never seen you without your armor," she drolled, stepping up alongside of him. "Where's- _OH!_ There you are Mame-chan," the baby garbled between them. Asa bent down and scooped him up, squeaking as he grabbed a handful of her obsidian hair and claimed it as his own. "Careful, careful! That's attached to my head, you know."

"Could say the same of you," Mando regarded while she was battling the gremlin for control over her loose hair.

"I had my own reasons, Mando. Just as I presume you have your own. No need to be snooty about it," she countered, finally coming to a mutual agreement with Mame in which he could hold her hair, but not pull it.

"You're a Shand."

"That's not the reason I hid my face, though I didn't want the entire Guild being aware of that fact," Asa fluttered her lashes in annoyance at the memory of Karga's outburst. Part of her hoped that 10 years had been enough time for her face to mature so that it wouldn't be recognizable. "What does Shand mean to you?"

"It's the name of a reputable Jakonan house that boasts members in various syndicates, most notably Fennec Shand," he answered.

"And that's where you're wrong," Asa chimed in her brightest, most teacher-like voice, now she was being pestiferous. "Mostly. We do not 'boast' about the estranged members of our family... but that's what our legacy has become."

"What do you mean?"

"House Shand is extinct on Jakon... As of a decade ago, courtesy of the Empire."

Mando contemplated her words for a lengthy minute. "That's why you refused the bounty for the Client." He wasn't daft, it had taken him a moment to acknowledge it because of how nonplussed Asa was. The forced smile on her face as she fixated on the baby rather than her own tempestuous emotions that stewed inside her heart. His voice was soft to the point that her skin prickled and heart fluttered, albeit disconcertingly. "What does that make you?"

" _Goryō._ " A ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goryō is a type of Japanese ghost falling underneath the Yūrei classification. A Goryō is a very specific type of spirit, one that is a vengeful spirit from an aristocratic class, particularly those that were martyred.
> 
> Thanks for sticking along! My intention is this to be a very natural slow burn rather than instant fall in love. They're still strangers and even if Din is touch-starved, in this fic, he's pretty good about being respectful (for now). Plus Asa is a dork, because it's fun to write her that way.


	6. Frogs

Green planets amongst the Outer Rim were an anomaly. More often than not, they were borderline inhospitable, either sweltering and dry or below freezing. The mild humidity in the back of her throat, unimpeded by the mempo should have been enough of a hint of what was to come, but Asa was still pleasantly bewildered when she stepped down the decline of the dock and saw a verdant forest of evergreen trees knifing up around the Razor Crest. Filling her lungs with the fresh minty scent of the pines, she admired the beauty around her from an unfiltered gaze.

A robin's egg blue sky, puffed with clouds that had been magnificently painted on its bright canvas. Fronds of thick grass as high as her hips jutted up at the base of the trees, other foliage peppering the landscape where the sunlight was able to peek through the dense canopies. Brown needles littered the ground in a thick carpet, preventing sod from grabbing root, but she found herself not minding. This was _all_ _natural_. Not manufactured or imported or cultivated to somehow survive in a shitty environment to give the metallic landscape a dash of green in a vain effort to scream that there was something natural about the planet. Canto Bight was a premier example of such mockery of the sublime.

A butterfly fluttered by, drawing Mame's attention immediately, his coos echoing through the pleasant air, climate at that beautiful zenith that was neither too hot or too cold while making it possible to wear pants and a long sleeved shirt and _not sweat_. Maker, Asa was in heaven and her face inadvertently betrayed her. Ten years was a long time to wear a mask the majority of the time and Asa's self control in regards to her facial expressions had dwindled. Gracing her face, splitting her plush lips, was a wide and blissful smile.

Mame fidgeted and before she lost control of him, she set him down on the ground to continue on his own two legs. Despite being so small, he was swift enough to keep pace with the both bounty hunters as they trotted down a narrow game trail in search of civilization and lodging.

Their search was not long, a comfortable silence settling between them as they walked. Even if neither spoke - which was not unaccustomed in the past - the forest was alive around them. A light orchestra of crickets harping on their legs, birds singing lilting serenades in mezzo-soprano voices in a cacophony of various tunes, and toads bellowed bass line croaks from the hidden nooks and logs scattered throughout the forest. Mame was most interested in their ribbets, gibbering with quaking ears as he tried to spy one from their forest path.

"Watch him. He'll eat anything he can get his hands on," Mando warned.

"Like what?" Asa asked curiously, her eyes tracing after the devilish bundle of canvas as he stooped over a violet flower.

"Frogs."

"You let him eat a frog?" Maker, why was that so amusing? A giggle bubbled up in the back of her throat as she tried to imagine such an animal in the baby's tiny mouth.

"I didn't let him."

"Was it alive?"

A long pause. "Yes."

"I knew you were trouble the moment I looked at you, Mame-chan," Asa sighed in good humor, scooping the bundle up in a graceful swoop like an eagle plucking a fish from a lake. "Little beast, aren't you?" she prodded at his mouth, wondering how she'd not thought him a carnivore. His itty-bitty teeth were certainly sharp enough to do some damage if he wanted.

Mame flailed at her intrusion, but didn't bite her.

"Devourer of frogs. Lord over the most fearsome bounty hunters-" Asa started quietly, assigning the silly titles as a building cut the horizon and broke out between the trees. She snuck a glance over at Mando, wondering if he was going to reprimand her again, but the kid was loving the attention - crying out in agreement with his newly bestowed honors. "Would it kill you to smile, Mando?" She jabbed mischievously; he could be smiling underneath that bucket for all she knew - though she doubted it. The man seemed to be all business and formalities.

"Shut _up_ , Shand." Ok, maybe not if she was beginning to get under his skin.

Anyway, that wasn't going to happen. She'd been silent and reserved for too many years and with this gremlin in her mitts, Asa was frothing at the mouth with happiness - accentuated by his bright clarinet song which had began humming in melodic major chords. Part of Asa wanted to see how much she could get away with - poking, pestering, and annoying Mando. Both of them had lived in solitude for so long and now they were forcibly in an alliance because of the verdant muppet in her arms. Her initial terror of the man had fled, still wary, but she wasn't worried about him murdering her. Replaced with a strange giddiness as Sorgan was a neatly bundled prize that would have been even better if her dominant arm wasn't in a sling.

Why Asa was so chipper was an entirely different story. Even she wasn't entirely certain why she was other than the fact that being around Mame made her heart hum contentedly. So many years had passed since she'd been around another like her. But her relationship with Ka-Moon and Rensei had been teacher to student. Mame was... different. Mando completed their ragtag trio and despite the bizarre union, Asa was more willing to accept the will of the Gods over her counterpart. He might not see it yet, but Asa had a feeling they were going to be stuck together longer than anticipated.

No need to continue being implacable with each other. They didn't have to become friends, but Asa was more than willing to make an attempt at some sort of familiarity to make this less... onerous.

Only downside was that there definitely wasn't going to be bacta here.

A divine aroma greeted both Jakonan and midget, mouths watering as they passed the curtained threshold of the common house. In light of how rural Sorgan was, the building's wooden interior and overall lack of a metal skeleton reminded her duly of home. Natural sun filtered through the slats in the ceiling or how the grooves of the wall didn't dovetail with one another. Not exactly Jakonan by design, which was typically sleek and graceful, but the fact it was wood suited her more than durasteel chambers and tombs.

A loth-cat hissed beneath a chair and Asa nearly kicked it, heart clutching as Mame squeaked and pushed his face into her collar. Ugly kriffing thing, weird chicken legs in places of paws and beady evil little eyes. A server was preparing meat and vegetables on a grill, the source of the scent that had lured the pair like sharks to blood in the ocean. Glancing over at Mando, "I'm going to get Mame-chan and I some food. Do you want anything?" She hadn't seen him eat yet and supposed it had to deal with the oath- with-the-armor thing.

"I'm fine," he replied simply, seeking an open table as Asa approached the grill where other patrons were clustering for an order. Even if this place was backwater, her eyes were still peeled. Mostly humans in roughspun textiles, a few aliens, and most certainly local. Asa didn't look too out of place in her simple black clothes, but Mando was a gleaming silver beacon of beskar. Wary eyes traced the figure he cut where he plopped down at a table, the civilian manner of his movements giggle-worthy.

Asa and Mame ordered food and brought it back to the table just as Mando finished talking with a worker, the glimmering exchange of a few credits not escaping her rapt gaze. "Stay here," Mando directed before she even had the chance to inquire what that had been about. Huffing a sigh, Asa took a seat and focused on the neat arrangement of grilled cuisine plated before them. Whatever he was up to, it wasn't as if she'd be much help with a bum arm and needing to use her good one to keep leash on the bean overlord.

"Was he any nicer when it was just the two of you?" she pulled a few pieces of the meat off that were bite-sized for Mame and put them in front of him on a plate.

Mame cooed, shoving the food into his gullet like a garbage disposal.

"Hmph, that's yet to be seen," she retorted mildly, nibbling on her own food, making a delighted noise because it was the first time in forever since she'd had fresh, flavored food that wasn't rations. In her culinary euphoria, she lost sight of the child for little more than two seconds. Glancing back to see if he needed more food, she jolted when the womp rat was vacant from his spot. " _By the Beasts-_ " she cursed, leaping to her feet and scrutinizing through the din of the common house for that impish clarinet song.

Kabob in hand, she scrambled around in hopes of finding Mame before Mando did. That's all she needed - for him to think she was incapable of yet another thing. Trotting outside, she found the tiny villain with a bowl of soup, slurping noisily as he stared at Mando on the ground, pointing a blaster at a broad woman. His helmet tilted, dark visor glancing from the child and then accusingly toward her.

"He's fast!" Asa hissed, cheeks flushing irritably.

"Didn't realize having a broken shoulder made your legs slower," Mando retorted.

Her mouth flapped a few times before she resigned to shutting it and observing the female he'd gotten into a fight with. She definitely was not local, eyes flying to the Rebel stripes and alliance tattoo beneath her eye.

Mame slurped again.

"Want some soup?" Mando asked the woman.

Inside the common house, the female introduced herself as Cara Dune, an ex-Rebel shocktrooper dropper. Any resignations Asa might've had were wiped clean because anyone who hated Imps wasn't half bad in her books. On top of that, she'd stood toe to toe with Mando, which was impressive on its own. Next to each other, both women were different but hardened in the same manner. Asa was lean and Cara broad, but both possessed the same tight, wry smiles and eyes crinkled by the experiences that had harrowed them. The dropper, able to see Asa's face, gleaned these details as well.

"Gonna need to strap that one to your chest if you don't want to lose him," Cara jerked a finger toward the kid who was contentedly sitting at the full table of warriors.

"He'd probably still find a way to slither out," Asa mused, a fox-like smirk curling the corners of her lips as she took a sip of the spotchka that Dune had bought her. At least one of them could partake, Mando's setting void of drink or food.

"Honestly, I thought Mando was here for me. Sorry for getting the drop on you," Cara chuckled, but then settled her eyes on Asa. "You're a hunter too." A statement, not a question.

"Out of commission for now," Asa nodded, glancing toward her shoulder to make a point. Before Cara could inquire, "Slug thrower."

"What's a Rebel dropper doing all the way out here?" Mando was astonishingly friendly, probably because Cara's prowess in battle had impressed him. Well, _friendly_ for him was just a calm tone of voice, devoid of any annoyance - which he'd wielded toward Asa when she'd been messing around with the kid.

"Early retirement," Cara grimaced before launching into a brief story about how her job had turned from being a soldier to a glorified police officer and that wasn't what she signed on for. There was an insinuation that she'd pissed off the wrong people and Asa imagined the dropper sparing a few choice words with some politician with their head up their own ass. As a teenager she'd had to deal with bureaucracy and she didn't miss it in the slightest. Bounty hunting, while a much coarser path of life, had never been as mentally stressful as politics.

Honestly, Asa was keen on keeping her nose out of anything that reeked of the New Republic. Was best just to glide amongst the Outer Rim, make certain the little one was taken care of, and keep her abilities under wrap. Ka-Moon had been a Jedi in exile and so was Asa in her own unique manner. As far as she knew, there was no Order to go to and she didn't think they'd want a ragamuffin such as herself. While she hadn't openly admitted it, the green bean might become her padawan just be association - but the difference in their training put up barriers she didn't know if she was capable of breaking through.

"Not that I've got anything against either of you," Cara concluded, draining the rest of her soup bowl. "But I was here first and this planet isn't big enough for three expats."

Kriff, she was right, but Asa was highly disappointed by the idea of finding another place to shack up. Especially because she knew how rare green planets were and this was likely the only backwater one that was this quiet, warm, and welcoming. Well, sand was better than ice, Asa had never gotten over frozen planets after Hoth. Maybe Mando would take suggestions now that she was lucid.

"Damn," Asa sighed wistfully, offering her a smile. "Wouldn't have minded a few more drinks with you, Dune. Best company I've had in a while."

Cara arched a brow, glancing at Mando. Mame groused first.

"Oh, sorry buddy. Scratch that, best conversation I've had in a while-" Asa corrected, the woman beside her bubbling with a snort as she purposely threw Mando under the bus. What? It was true! He barely said anything other than what was necessary. Again, Asa wasn't expecting to become his best friend, but a little more banter wouldn't hurt to break the ice between them. Just talking to Dune made her feel a little bit more human, a face to face interaction with actual words instead of just placating the green demon that had become her newest obsession to stave off madness.

To be around another person and not hold conversation with them was weird. That was what it was like on the _Razor Crest_. Mild torture trying to be courteous while living in another person's space, but also yearning for more casualness.

Despite her frustration over the ordeal and having to pack up, they set back on the forest path toward the _Razor Crest_. Since they'd spent the better part of the day in the common house, the sun had set and night descended on Sorgan with a dusty blue curtain. And the bugs came out to play in a malicious ballet, moths, mosquitoes, and other alien flies that Asa tried to blow out of her face as Mame squealed and fidgeted in her arm.

"Do you really dislike me so much?" Mando asked abruptly as she wrestled the monster.

"What?" she get out a huff to keep Mame from grabbing a giant mosquito. "I don't know you, Mando."

"Back with Dune-"

Did he _actually_ care what she thought about him? Her brows snared together and she glanced up at his visor, wondering what expression he might be wearing beneath. "Would it kill you to be a bit more conversational? We were in the same line of work. We're not that different."

"Clearly, we are," he remarked, but not tersely. If she was reading him correctly, he was implying that the person beneath the mempo wasn't at all what he had expected. Her eyes twitched at the thought, wondering if her unmasking had really been that disappointing.

"I'm not asking you to be chummy, but if we're stuck with this one-" she displayed the now upside down canvas bundle. "-we should try to get along. Be friends, I suppose."

His vocoder crackled with static, a deep sigh pressing along the edges of his shoulders as he gave a diminished nod. "He likes you."

"Tell him that right now," Asa snorted, holding him by a tiny foot. "M'lord you're being unreasonable." Mame squealed in defiance. "Very well, we shall continue your torture until you're willing to accept the terms."

"Do you like kids?" Mando chuckled softly, the first laugh she'd heard from him... _ever_. Warmed her a bit that he was making an attempt, despite how blatant it was that he didn't talk more than a few short words at a time.

"Yeah, I do. Haven't gotten to be around them in a long time. Kids don't exactly like the ookami-oni mask," she smirked wryly and Canto Bight wasn't much of a place to bring your children... or a place where she could interact with them. Just some weird Jakonan woman asking to play with kids - now that'd be freaky. "Mame-chan doesn't care though. Hey. _Hey_ you little womp rat!" He was undoing her obi from his bat-like pose of being held upside down, pulling out her sack of credits and dumping it all over the ground in a chime-like cascade. "You're a deviant."

"You called him our overlord and didn't expect him to get a big head over it?"

They paused to bend down and collect her thrown belongings, Asa unable to keep herself from laughing at Mando's joke. "Well he is, isn't he?" heads bowed, Mando's gloved palms scooping up her credits and putting them into the silken frog pouch that held her coins. Mame had noticed it, beginning to salivate and making grabby hands. "What's mine is yours, isn't it, Mame-chan?"

He garbled in agreement, snatching at Mando and missing as the man pulled the coin purse out of his grasp. "Not yours," he scolded, but he lacked any depth or insistence.

"It's funny isn't it?" she didn't even get to finish her thought before her throat betrayed her with quiet snickering.

"What is?" Mando was standing and holding her fat frog pouch, stomach distended with her credits.

Using her best announcer voice, "The two most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy reduced to babysitters for a mischievous elderly wizard infant. Coming soon to a holo-theatre near you." Right, despite the fact that they were talking now, Asa still managed to make a dope out of herself.

Nebulous visor searing a T into her face, he responded, "I think you're inflating your opinion of yourself a bit."

Well Maker, despite being quiet, the man was clever. Asa's jaw dropped before she snapped it back up with a loud click and made an effort to look dignified. Was a lot harder to do when she didn't have a mask to hide her face. She ushered Mame down the path as Mando dumped her frog pouch into her outstretched hand.

"How long did you last in that fight on Nevarro again?" he continued, his voice so even despite his teasing that it made her cheeks burn more.

"I lasted the whole time," she snipped tartly.

" _Mhm_. Maybe the bounties Karga gave you weren't too difficult, both time we crossed paths-"

"You and I both know that Wampa would have curb-stomped you first had I not been the one to encounter it," Asa sniffed indignantly.

"How did you become such a notorious bounty hunter?" Mando continued.

Now she wished she hadn't entreated him into open conversation. "Very. _Carefully_."

"Always seemed like you were playing sabacc half the time."

He'd noticed _that_? Asa had spent time in the cantina not only to give herself a break, but also due in part to make certain no one was loading a blaster to point at the back of her head. She didn't have the luxury of a chrome bucket to deflect a shot. Rather than ignoring her adversaries, she'd played the field like a hand of cards. Better to come across as friendly enough and mingle with the crowd than garner dislike by taking all the best jobs and screwing... like Mando did.

"Right... playing sabacc," she drawled, a dastardly smile unfurling on her face. "Why? Do you play?"

"I know you cheat," Mando grunted. "And no, I don't gamble."

"I don't cheat!" Asa huffed, the Razor Crest flickering to life as Mando pressed a button on his vambrace - lights flooding the clearing and the side dock grinding down to the ground. So that was a lie. Asa had definitely cheated on multiple occasions. The Bushido mentioned honesty, but only in actions - not in card playing. "It's not my fault they were all too stupid to realize. Is it really a crime to fool a bunch of thugs?"

"Again, Shand, you're putting yourself on a pedestal."

Right, she was just as much an outlaw as the rest of them. "Wanna know the truth?" she asked, watching as he glanced at her just a smidgen. "I was hoping they'd catch me. If they did, I think they were too afraid of what I'd do to them if they ousted me. One of the few things I could do that was actually amusing - pilfering credits from the pockets of people who'd like to take a shot at me, but were too afraid to do it even when I was obviously swindling them. Some days, I'd be even sloppier in hopes that it'd be pointed out. Never happened."

"You were trying to pick a fight?"

"Eh, I wouldn't phrase it like that. More like I was trying to see if anyone _would_ ," and maybe she got a deep sense of satisfaction and amusement that they were all too frightened to even make an attempt. There was something extremely enlightening about finessing the other bounty hunters and no one saying as much as a peep. Usually she was quite good at her sleight of hand tricks, but other days - when she was particularly moody - she'd be more deliberate about her mistakes.

"What do you think now?" he pointed to her broken shoulder.

" _Hmmmm_ ," she hummed, drawing it out past the point of contemplation and more for comedic effect. "Na, couldn't be because of my cheating at sabacc." Mame let out a low whine, turning toward the both of them and making grabby hands. "What? All tuckered out now?"

"There's still a few things that I need to do before we leave," Mando informed her.

"Let me know if you need any help. I'm going to try and put this one down. Little too much adventuring," sliding her hand beneath his rump, she lifted the boy again and smiled naturally. Despite the fact that they were fugitives, forced to be living with one another in the Crest, and her shoulder was fractured - Asa felt warm inside, like her tummy had a candle keeping it bright and heated. Heading into the ship, she nestled down by the table and gave the kid some attention. Huge eyes blinked slowly, fighting off sleep as he huffed against her breast. He gestured toward the dock and to Mando who was still outside. "He'll be here when you wake up. _Promise_." A samurai never broke their promises.

Let's just say his expectations had been blown out of the water like a torpedo striking a vessel. Had he known how impish Shand was, he might've left the troublesome woman back on Nevarro. Scoffing quietly to himself outside his ship, he shook the thought of the Jakonan from his mind along with the smile that had turned his lips up. That was a difficult thing to do after watching her entertain the child all day. Who would've thought that the imposing, demonic voiced Ronin was a mischievous woman just underneath that mask? One who grinned like a fox and seemed to be in on some sort of secret joke that only the kid knew about?

The baby had taken to her like a krayt dragon to sand. Why wouldn't he? She was lively, engaged with him, and kept giving him the most absurd names. Despite his own petulant silence, having Shand around had made watching the child easier. A unspoken agreement that they'd both look over 'Mame' sitting between them. He had been a bit stiff around her, but not without his reasons. Sharing his ship - with a _woman_ \- was difficult. Shand's delirious, fever induced comment also hadn't done him well either. By now, he knew it was part of the female's playful charm, but he'd been absolutely gobsmacked by it originally because he was still coping with the fact that Ronin was a woman.

But was she unbearable? No, she wasn't. He just hadn't been willing to give her a chance at first and that was unfair. If they were stuck together, she was right, they could try to get along. Once she was fully healed, he would have a more capable... partner? Did partner really apply? What were they? Once they had been rivals, but even so that felt like a rougher term to describe the way they respected, but avoided one another. Attention fixated on the landing gear for the Crest, which had suffered a bit of damage on their way off Nevarro, he made a futile attempt not to think about his newest stowaways.

First off, the kid he'd forsaken his job for. Whatever he was, only Shand had an inkling about his wizard magic.

Then the Tribe had come to the surface, which would force them to relocate the covert.

Finally, he had a second space-wizard on his ship and she was much too attractive with her mask off and playing around with the baby.

 _Keep it together, Djarin, it's just been a long time. Shand is decent at being professional when she isn't coasting on a fever,_ Din reminded himself duly. There was still a good amount of mystery surrounding her, but it wasn't his place to ask about it. His past was shrouded and he was unwilling to part with it. Shand didn't strike him as the type to talk about hers, hell she hadn't even told him what _Goryō_ meant. He only knew she was a Shand because Karga had betrayed that information, otherwise she'd made no effort to correct him or give her first name. Due to the wiping out of House Shand on Jakon, he expected it was because of her concern over being identified.

His attention was subverted by the approach of a lantern and a pair of voices - local farmers. After the exchange with Cara Dune, he knew it was time to move on before loitering got her in trouble too. Admonishing as much attention as he could care on the men, he was about to send them off when they mentioned how it had taken the better part of a day to get to the _Razor Crest_. While he tried not to stare at Shand too long, he had noticed the broad smile on her face when they'd stepped onto Sorgan.

"And you have lodgings?" Din inquired.

"U-uh, yeah!"

"Give me a hand," Din instructed, turning back toward his ship, wondering if Shand was going to berate him for making the decision without her. Instead, he found her slumped against the wall with the kid sleeping on her chest. The swordsman was just as unconscious as the child, chin tucked down and dark hair falling in her face. "Shand." She jolted awake, charcoal eyes swiping up toward him. She was more responsive when not injured, a mild call of her name rousing her.

She observed the pair of farmers climbing onto the ship and shot him a questioning look.

"Found a job."

A brow arched at him, but she gave a discreet nod and huffed up to her feet. "Raking in the mountains of credits, I can see," she jested sarcastically, careful not to jostle Mame too much and risk waking him.

"Not as if you'll be able to help, so the price wasn't as steep."

Shand didn't like being told she wasn't useful, he could see it written plainly on her face at his words. "Gonna tell me what it entails? You're still dragging me along for the ride."

"You can stay on the Crest if you want, but the village is about a day's ride from here." He betrayed little and the woman grumbled in Jakonan underneath her breath, scooping up her rice-hat and putting it on with a modicum of petulance. Din smirked beneath his helmet at the grouchy samurai, but didn't poke the bear any further. He wondered what Shand was like when she was furious. That seemed one emotion she was rather good at keeping under control despite being testy as times.

"Maybe I'll have more luck there finding people who want to play sabacc with me," she muttered before heading out of the ship. "Hello, what're your names?" A question Din hadn't bothered with as she paused to greet the farmers. The fellow with a mop of curls was Caben and the other, with a curtain of obsidian, was Stoke. "You can call me Hana."

He doubted that was her real name, but she was unwilling to spread Shand around, which was clever. Even if they were gone before hunters sniffed out their trail, it kept the villagers safer if they had no idea who she was. A Mandalorian, woman, and child were not who the Guild was tracking and it might buy them additional time between their pit stops until they figured out what they were going to do.

Harassing Dune was considerably easier than he thought it would be. While the pay wasn't great (and he'd given it entirely to Cara) the remote village would give them time to get their bearings. What the hell was he going to do with the kid? With Shand? Just thinking about it gave him a head ache. They might be able to find a home for the kid, but Shand was in just as deep as he was and eventually hunters might come for Ronin. With the four of them loaded up in the back of the repulsorlift speeder, Shand tilted her hat back so her golden countenance was revealed.

"Now we're helping villagers for lunch money?" Cara glanced between them and where they perched comfortably on the opposite side of the speeder. There was still a few inches of space dividing them, but he caught the dropper's curious look - silently wondering what was between the bounty hunters.

"Nice little countryside vacation too," Shand chirped, nonplussed, kid still konked out on her robes.

"Easy for you to say, whole lot of help you're gonna be with a bum arm," Cara pointed out, which miffed Din slightly. The Rebel hadn't seen Shand fight after taking the blast, continuing to put up a valiant effort while suffering from a slug shot.

"She's still a good shot," he defended, earning a side glance of surprise from his counterpart. "Worst case scenario, we tune up our blasters. Best case, we're a deterrent. I can't imagine there's anything living in these trees that an ex-Shocktrooper couldn't handle." Cara was placated by his words and Din stretched back, opening up his shoulder blades - careful not to encroach on Shand's personal space as she kiddie cornered herself to give him a little more ability to lounge out.

"You play sabacc, Dune?" Shand asked conversationally, earning a snort from Din as he found a comfortable spot to lay out in.

"Not with you," Cara retorted immediately. "All smiles aren't you? Huh, Chuckles - I bet you play a mean sabacc."

"I've heard over the past decade that my smile is my most disarming feature."

Now Din laughed, imagining the snarling mempo in place of the cunning woman's broad smile that he was becoming acquainted with by the day. How was it that when there were women in his life, it was a soldier and a conniving bounty hunter? Even if he barely knew Dune, he had a feeling that the ex-Rebel was as trustworthy as Shand - who'd not broken her sworn oaths despite the years.

Din Djarin had become a rather good judge of character over his years. While he was reluctant to trust, he'd found that there were genuine people in the most unusual places. From amongst his own Guild, to the Ugnaught on Arvala-7, to the Tusken Raiders who were severely misunderstood by the settlers - everyone had a story. And as he sat there judging now, he knew that both females were decent people who had been dealt shit hands, just like himself. Undoubtedly, they'd all done things that they regretted, but survival wasn't always pretty or honorable.

Letting out a low breath, he fell asleep to the women throwing jabs at one another verbally.

When morning came, Din jerked, taken aback that they'd all dozed off without anyone to keep an eye out. Amongst the group, only Mame was the lucid one, hanging halfway over the edge of the repulsorlift as Shand sat back with her hat entirely over her face. Snapping his arm out in time to catch the gremlin, he let out a low cluck. "Can't leave you on your own for two seconds, can we?" he grumbled, but found himself incapable of actually getting vexed with the bat-eared child as he cooed energetically.

As the speeder finally came to a halt, the women both came alive from their deep sleeps, the lack of the lulling sensation of the vehicle causing them to stir. Cara jumped and Shand tilted her hat up to glare through the haze of sunlight.

"Everyone they're here!" The voice belonged to a shrieking child, the heads of the adults all turning to get a full glimpse of the anticipated village.

Carved out of the forest was a clearing that the town had nestled into. Reed framed ponds guarded the entrance, the livelihood of the rural farm. A few adults were tending in the water, hip deep in the pools as heads craned to ogle the outsiders. Wooden racks hung fishing nets and garments, a horde of children perking up and sprinting toward the speeder like a rabid flock of lemmings. The huts of the village plopped down like fat rain drops, brown and teal, with sharply pointed roofs. Despite the lack of technology and metal, Din thought there was a rustic, simple charm to the town.

"Well, looks like they're happy to see us," Din commented as he noticed the discomfited expression on Dune's face, as if she didn't know what to do with all the kids.

Shand reacted a bit more naturally, patting Mame's back encouragingly and splitting a cheeky grin at the crowd of children.

"Looks like," Dune agreed, crossing her legs and relaxing.

Mame was lathing in the attention, claws hooked on the edge of the lift as his chocolate eyes widened at the sight of so many other children. A small blonde girl flanked another with darker hair, both leaning in and grinning at the baby.

"Hi!"

"He's so cute."

Mame babbled, sparing one glance back at Shand who gave him a reassuring nod. Din caught himself staring at her for a little too long, jerking himself back and away from the bed of the lift as Cara dismounted beside him.


	7. Sanctuary

The village was adorable, reminding Asa of some of the more remote locations on Jakon that relied on little technology and the residents farmed most to provide for themselves. Even the monks in the mountains had preferred the simpler life devoid of the intricacies of modern strides and it brought a smile to her face to see the peace and cohesion of the villagers. What it also did, was make them ripe for the pickings. They had no Shogun to defend them, to raise warriors in their aid if they were harried. Instead, they had to pay mercenaries in the hope of chasing away raiders. While her shoulder was still aching, Asa did believe that it had improved since departing Nevarro. Would it be ready in time for her to wield her lightsaber in defense? Probably not. Would Asa injure herself and try? Probably.

A beautiful woman with long dark hair led her and Mando through the town, toward a building not as neatly thatched as the other residential homes. What they were brought to was a barn, stacked full with crates. Asa realized as the woman spared them both a kind glance the insinuation that Stoke and Caben had made.

"I hope this is comfortable for you," the woman started. "I'm sorry all we have is the barn."

"Slept in worse places," Asa admitted before she could stop herself, giving the female a sly glance from the corner of her eye. Mame was toddling around beside them, giving forlorn looks toward the doorway. Mando scooped him up and put him in the low sitting wooden bassinet in an attempt to give them both a second to settle in.

"I put a stack of blankets over here-" she gestured to the corner of the barn and Asa estimated there was enough room for the both of them to make neat blanket beds. Floors were not anything new to her and truly, sleeping on wood was a familiar comfort.

"Thank you," Asa responded graciously. "What may I call you? I'd prefer to put a name to a face than call you Villager #4."

The woman smiled at her jest. "Omera."

"You can call me Hana, Omera. An honor-" she gave a small bow, courteous toward their hosts as she ought to be. Hana was a simple Jakonan name, discreet and also not nearly as identifiable as Shand.

"Your shoulder... How did you injure it?" Omera inquired kindly.

"A fight. It's fractured in a couple of places, but fine otherwise."

"You have a strange definition of fine," Omera smirked. "I can take a look at it later, Hana. I know a bit about healing."

"That would be greatly appreciated," Asa agreed, the forlorn hope that bacta might be laying around still a pipe-dream, but at least someone with more talent than Mando could see if anything else could be done. Her eyes traced a little girl who was carefully placing her boots on the wooden planks outside the doorway. When one squeaked, Mando rounded reflexively, causing the child to stiffen and eyes widen in terror. She didn't blame him for the natural reaction, both of them were used to constant vigilance, but she did feel for the girl as Omera swept over to comfort her.

Pressed to the teal smock, Omera offered a tentative introduction. "This is my daughter Winta," she told them, glancing between her child and them. "This nice man is going to protect us from the bad ones."

_What am I, chopped liver?_ Asa hid her displeasure at being brushed aside as Mando's injured companion, instead fixating her attention on Winta. She was cute, big doleful eyes set on the Mandalorian's imposing beskar form. The manner which Omera calmly encircled her daughter tugged at heartstrings in a way that Asa had never felt. What was this? Her eyes softened and she fluttered her lashes a few times, trying to understand what it was that she felt when looking at them? _Jealousy? Envy?_ Omera was of a similar age to her and yet she had so much more than a broken legacy - she had Winta.

"Thank you," Winta's voice was hoarse, but polite.

Mando nodded stiffly.

"Come on, Winta. Let's give our guests some room," Omera squeezed the girl's shoulders and threw one more glance back toward Asa, imploring her to find her later to redeem the offer to take a look at her shoulder.

"Will your shoulder be fine on the floor?" Mando inquired quietly after Omera departed. The kindness of the question took her aback as she began to unfurl the blankets.

"Better than on that thing you call a bed," Asa retorted dryly before she could stop herself. "Most beds on Jakon are mats on floors. Better for your back and alignment. I can prepare a couple here, they're astoundingly comfortable," she insisted, backpedaling on her ungratefulness. Since her request, he had been considerably more approachable and less curt. Being around Mando didn't feel half as oppressive and worrisome. In fact, she found that his banter wasn't half that bad, though Cara had proven to be more than Asa could handle. The evening prior, Cara had laid into her when they'd started talking and Asa's clever retorts dried up until she grew grouchy with the Rebel.

Now, with the hum of the village just outside the paper thin walls, she couldn't help but be vaguely reminded of him. Despite the dissimilarities, the noise and atmosphere was very akin.

Mando took to cleaning his rifle while sitting on the edge of a crate while Asa found a clever way to fold with just one hand available. Part way through her endeavor, Omera returned with a platter laden with food. An awkward silence slid over all of them as Winta crowded Mame who was still lounging in the cradle. Mando had to be hungry, hell, Asa was starving. She had never seen the man eat before and knew that he managed to find time somehow.

"Omera, I wouldn't mind taking you up on that offer," Asa broke through.

"Can I feed him?" Winta seemed considerably more relaxed than before, giving an anxious glance from Asa and then falling finally on Mando.

"Sure," Mando agreed.

Winta broke off pieces of bread and animatedly fed Mame, who was gentle and uncharacteristically obedient when compared to how viciously he would eat out of Asa's palm. The little demon was putting up a front before the prospect of a new friend, versus Asa who was stuck with him no matter what. Sucking on her cheek and eying the brat, she noticed Omera's nod.

"Of course," the woman replied, but her eyes were still trailing Mando with intrigue. The mysteriousness of the broad Mandalorian was drawing her in and Asa couldn't help but give a smirk, wondering if the female found his aura attractive. Wiping her hands on her skirts Omera was about to turn when her daughter spoke up again.

"Can I play with him?" Now she was looking at Asa for permission, as if the bounty hunting duo were actually parents.

"I think he'd like that," Asa confided as if it were the biggest secret, Mando bent down and plucked the womp rat out of the cradle and passed him over to Winta. "I'll keep an eye out for him-" she promised the man, watching him stiffen over losing sight of the kid. While she didn't say it out loud, she was hoping he'd take the hint to use this solitude to his advantage and remove his helmet to eat.

Following Omera, Winta, and Mame out of the barn, snaring the curtain with her free hand to tug it shut. Asa hadn't asked about his oaths, but supposed maybe she would later to find out what it actually meant. Given that they were making an attempt to be friends, there was no harm in asking, was there? She knew that Mandalorians possessed a rich culture like her own and she wanted to be able to properly respect him.

Omera's hut was just next door, a brigade of children emerging from the shadows like thieves at the sight of Winta with the coveted alien child. Out in a dirt clearing, they started playing, all utterly obsessed with Mame as he ogled them. Asa knew it had been a copious amount of time since the poor thing had any interaction with those similarly developed as him. Her mind went to the snippets of the younglings that had been murdered in front of him and a wistful smile pursed her lips tight.

"Are you alright, Hana?" Omera asked as they sat on the stoop. She'd just returned from collecting various herbal remedies, bandages, and other miscellaneous medical supplies. None were bacta. Curse the Gods.

She had not realized that a tear had slipped from her eye at the memory of the massacre in the Jedi temple. Brushing it away, she stared at the abandoned drop and shook her head. "Sorry, he's not been around children in a very long time," not entirely a life and also just scratching at the surface. Omera had no idea that a 'long time' actually spanned decades.

"You care for him very deeply," Omera observed, motioning toward Asa's robes. She gave a nod, allowing the woman to remove the sling and pull down the edge of her robe. Baring her shoulder wasn't immodest and surrounding them were children. Asa could honestly care less, the atmosphere of the village relaxed her. "You've adopted him along with your husband?"

"Oh, woa-" she jumped, not because of the traces of pain riddling her shoulder, but at the suggestion. "Mando and I are not together."

"I-I-" Omera's cheeks darkened. "I'm sorry I inferred that. Stoke and Caben just assumed that you were since you shared the starship and both looked after the boy."

"Honest mistake," Asa placated, her own face burning at the suggestion. How had someone inferred that? They hadn't even touched each other the entire trip to the village and upon their arrival. Honestly, it was more believable that her and Cara were an item by how borderline their conversation encroached on flirting the night prior. "We're acquaintances. Worked together before we got landed with that bundle of trouble. I suppose we're still working together to make certain the little one is taken care of."

"You're a mercenary too, then?"

Mercenary was an easy way to put it. Asa gave a solemn nod as the mild air kissed her exposed skin and she was hit with the sickly familiar smell of her wounds gathering sweat. Omera began to clean them with a wet rag, the furious red welts puckered, but not infected thankfully.

"Looks like this hurt," Omera remarked.

"Mm, not often you find these weapons. I'm lucky the damage wasn't more severe," Asa returned, her eyes still tracing the children as they mucked around in the dirt, playing catch and including Mame in their game.

"I'm going to apply a little pressure and move your arm to observe the extent of the damage. It might hurt," Omera said, gripping her dominant hand before beginning to manipulate the shoulder carefully. Just as expected, her shoulder creaked and began to heat, lightning shocks of pain causing Asa to grimace and grind her teeth. Still, the agony wasn't as unbearable as it had been, which was curious. How long had passed since Nevarro? A week? She hadn't really been counting, maybe it had been two.

"What's the prognosis, Doc?" Asa questioned as Omera neatly put her arm back down. She flexed her fingers, cheeks tightening at the protest her shoulder gave.

"Your fracture is still healing, but it's doing quite well. I assume it's been a couple of months since this happened?"

A couple of months? Still hurt like a bastard, how had it been a couple of months? Had Asa's perception of time really been that bad on the ship? Had Mando lied to her about how many days she had been unconscious? "Uh, few weeks or something, haven't been keeping track," she muttered, confused by Omera's observation. Though if anyone knew, it would be the woman trained in medicine and not Asa.

"I'm going to apply a salve to it and make a drought you'll need to drink. While you're here, you can begin minor exercises. I would suggest not wearing the sling anymore to allow your muscles to begin compensating," Omera instructed, combining a handful of various herbs into a mortar and pestle. From the bitter smell, Asa knew she was in for a treat. Devoting her attention to the kids in the clearing, she wondered if her Chi had played a hand in healing her quicker. Certainly hadn't made anything less painful or difficult, but if it cut down the time required to mend, she supposed that was fortunate.

While Omera was working and the kids played, Cara trotted up. An hour must have passed, enough time for the sun to dance across the horizon and the robin's egg blue to shift into cornflower dashed with daggers of bleeding amber and pink. "Hana-" Cara said her 'name' in a strange manner, mostly because Asa had told her to use it in place of Shand while in the village. Mando and Cara likely suspected it wasn't her real name, just a alias to prevent being traced. "Mando and I are going to go do a bit of recon."

"Stay out of trouble," Asa quipped, nodding the dropper off, thankful they were keeping her in the loop despite her inability to be helpful.

"Where did you get this one?" Omera inquired at Asa's bared arm, the golden skin along her forearm interrupted by a jagged scar that had faded to a thick silver band tracing from halfway up her forearm and to mid-bicep.

"Yeti," Asa grumbled. "I can tell you the story if you'd like. Sort of how Mando and I ended up working together."

While omitting specific details, she recounted the tracking down of a quarry on Hoth and how she'd encountered the snarling Wampa. It had been frigidly cold, icy teeth biting into her muscles as she moved on feet of wind in hopes of getting back into her starship to chase away the frost. Her limbs were more lethargic from the temperature and her senses dulled. Despite how big Wampas were, the dwelling behemoth had taken her by surprise, her heart rate already pumping from trying to keep her extremities heated amongst the subzero climate.

The Wampa's pounce had missed her by a breadth. What should have crushed her, stomach torn and blood heating the cave resulted in just a gash to her arm as her Chi forewarned her. Asa chalked this up to pure luck while in front of Omera, some pious God taking pity on her. Next had come the clumsy dance, the Wampa proving to be a powerful partner, but oafish while her own grace ebbed away with the droplets of blood painting her story. Backed into a corner, she had drawn her shoto, unwilling to suffer the misery of being ripped limb by limb. Had it not been for the mighty roar of an amban rifle, ripping through the cave like a dragon's cry, she would have died.

"Only the scar remains a reminder of my near brush with death," Asa concluded, Omera's dark eyes bright with interest from the harrowing tale - likely the most exciting thing she'd heard in a while aside from the atrocities she'd faced from the raiders pillaging her town. "And I owed Mando a debt. It is the way of my people. He saved my life and so I owed him a life for a life. And as you can see-" she gestured to Mame.

"I see," Omera smiled out at the playing kids, picking out the canvas midget who was having the time of his life. "Where's your sword?"

"Stored for now. I do have another weapon with me, arm willing."

"That?" Omera pointed at the flute on her obi.

"Ah yes, death by music. I'm out of practice, so it might actually hurt to listen," Asa chuckled, pulling out the shakuhatchi and showing it to her. "I can't tell you all my secrets on my first day here, can I?"

"Perhaps when you are well enough, you can tell me more through that," Omera glanced back to the flute.

The woman took her aback, the suggestion that Asa wouldn't talk much more about the depth behind her life, but could give a tune to the story that was her life - well, it was rather poetic. Despite the rural location of this village, Omera's intelligence was as refreshing as morning dew. "Perhaps," Asa agreed with melancholy, a breeze drafting between the buildings and tangling invisible fingers in the thick, dark hair of both women.

While enjoying the solace of peace, the salve was applied to her tender flesh, possessing a heat that numbed over the worst of the ache. From the stench of the potion Omera had created, Asa knew it was going to be just as foul as the herbal remedies on Jakon. Herbs were utilized for medicinal purposes before resorting to bacta. Tea was coveted like gold and certain leaves could sell for hundreds of credits an ounce. During her years as Shogun, Asa had acquired a particular taste for the finer leaves. Medical herbs always tasted awful, bitter, lacking sweetener, and tacky - so terribly tacky that it could be tasted for hours after.

The last slivers of daylight were beginning to flee, just as she was tucking Mame under her arm and thanking Omera for the assistance. Not wearing the sling was liberating, but once the salve's immediate effects faded, she knew the familiar bantha-kick-in sensation would return. Before bed she needed to go through the rotations Omera prescribed. Her eyes brightened at the sight of Mando and Cara returning from their work, but her calm demeanor shifted at the dropper's abysmal expression.

"What is it?" Asa asked, brows knitting together as the pair halted far enough for the villagers not to hear them.

"Imperial walker," Cara grimaced.

Her stomach dropped into her feet, gears shifting quickly. "How?" On Sorgan of all places? Stars, how was that possible? "The raiders have it?"

"Yes. We're not prepared for this," Mando added.

Asa sucked her teeth, glancing back toward the village, her heartstrings tugging as she imagined these honest people being harried and having no liege to protect them. Her eyes traced down to her obi, to the hidden lightsaber - a weapon that could cut through an AT-ST's defenses. "We can be," she decided, wondering if she could meditate and seek a way to heal her arm better. She couldn't do it on her own, but would Mando and Cara be enough of a distraction.

Mando did not speak, but Cara was the first to offer rebuff. "We? You're still injured, aren't you? I've seen walkers reave through entire companies of trained soldiers."

"Convince the villagers to help," Asa devoted her attention to Mando, who knew about her abilities.

"This is more than we bargained for!" Cara broke in.

"Dune," Asa rounded toward her, leveling her gaze up at the broad woman who was quaking with frustration. "You worked with the New Republic for a bit, didn't you?"

"Briefly, but I don't see-"

"May the Force be with you."

Asa turned on her heel and left the two to figure out how to break the news to the village. Mame was nearly out by the time she made it to the barn, blinking his luminous eyes up at her as she sat on the floor with him.

"You're making me commit more and more to choosing that path, aren't you?" she asked gently, brushing his head as they had a staring contest. He had a long day, but the youngling needed to know that she would take up this torch for him. "You wouldn't happen to have healing fingers? Might make this a bit easier whenever we do face the walker."

Mame cooed gently, reaching up with his claws to prod at her shoulder. Her eyes widened, his wrinkles creasing with concentration as she felt the hum of the Force around them, blotting out all noise and singing like a lullaby in her ears as the dull throb in her shoulder eased. The baby became a limp noodle in her hands, breath returning to her with new vigor and his eyes blinking blearily a few times more before he was unconscious.

Asa was gobsmacked that he'd actually understood her request and been able to act on it. The power the child had to heal, something she'd never mastered, bespoke his abilities. Her fingers trembled and she wondered if she was even worthy of training Mame or if his talent was beyond her scope. Kissing his brow, Asa tucked him into his bed with the utmost care, rolling her shoulder and flexing her fingers as she started to see if the baby truly had healed her. Her astonishment was amplified, her fingers jerking down the edge of her robe to stare at the silver scars in place of the puckered marks she'd possessed before.

Mando walked in.

"Wha-"

"He healed me," Asa croaked, glancing from baby and then to the dark visor of her fellow hunter. "I still had weeks to go before it was ready for proper use and... the baby healed it."

The Mandalorian considered her for an agonizingly long minute, stepping forward to inspect the wound with just as much bewilderment as her. "I thought you had the same magic."

"No, I told you that we were different. That each person is different," Asa reminded him, feeling oddly crowded by Mando being this close. Almost enough that he was brushing her, but not quite. Still, she could feel his heat radiating off of him and it made her face flush. "I can't heal people. He's very strong-" _Stronger than me._

"You were going to try to take down the walker with your shoulder weeks away from healing?" Mando realized, vexation hissing in the edge of his tone as if he actually cared that much about her.

" _Hai_ , I was. Sidetracking my healing to help the villagers would have been a minor price to pay." And she hated feeling useless. "How did the meeting go?" Asa shifted the subject in hopes of chasing away the unidentifiable emotions that were churning in her stomach. Taking a step away from Mando, she pulled the shoulder of her robe back up and secured it.

"The villagers agreed to help," he revealed pensively, creating more distance between them as he leaned up against a storage crate. "You don't think it'll be suspicious that your arm is magically healed?"

That point made her mouth open, but nothing came out. "How long will it take to train the villagers? I can pretend to still being hurt, which means I won't be able to do much labor without drawing attention." Now that'd be aggravating - being healed and having to find other ways to make herself busy. Asa rubbed her brow, she'd find a way to create work, whether it was some mundane task that required one arm - she'd find it and hone in on it.

"They're not trained at all."

He wasn't happy. She had forced him into a precarious position. "You were the one who suggested coming out here in the first place," she grumbled, sitting on her makeshift bed, crossing her legs. "Now I'm invested. _All. Because. Of. You._ " Seemed like it was becoming habit where Asa was blaming Mando for her bleeding heart and injuries.

"Right. Because of me," Mando remarked knowingly. "Can you really use your magic to fight the AT-ST?"

"It's called the Force," Asa reminded him. "And I have other methods, but I'll need the time the village is training to prepare myself."

"So Dune and I will have to take care of all the training," he deduced grumpily.

"Don't pretend you're not thrilled," Asa smirked, flopping back and enjoying the fact that her shoulder didn't reprimand her for the aggressive action.

"Other methods," he groused quietly, his modulator barely picking it up.

"Trust me, Mando! I haven't led you astray yet, have I?"

"I'd hate to see the day you finally do."

Trusting a space-wizard-samurai shouldn't have been at the top of his to-do list, but he didn't want to abandon the village to their fate. Shand had claimed she could take care of the AT-ST and with her shoulder healed - again, utilizing space-magic - he had to put faith in the woman's ability to deliver on her promises. The village was tossed into a bustling rhythm, Din and Cara taking the head as resources were scavenged, pits were dug, barriers were erected, and locals were armed with the meager supplies they had - mostly including pitchforks, blades fastened to poles, and a few firearms. Just as Shand had suggested, she played to her injury still, and made herself scarce. Din wasn't miffed by this, but Dune obviously was - aggravated that they were doing most of the work and Shand seemed to be playing with the children instead of taking the AT-ST seriously.

"I don't get it," Cara hissed, venting her frustrations after fussing over hand-to-hand combat with the villagers. "What's the Force got to do with any of this? Was she just being cheeky? I swear, if Chuckles gets us killed-"

"She's been good on her word as long as I've known her," Din told the dropper calmly, trying not to rouse her fury any further.

"And _how_ long is that, again?" she inquired sharply.

"Ten years," that was a lie, he really only knew Shand for the better part of two months, but Dune didn't need to know that. Technically, he knew of Ronin for ten. In between the lines was a different story, but Dune had none of this context.

Still, his affirmation had the intended effect and Cara let out a deep sigh that sagged her broad shoulders. "If we do get killed, I'm going to haunt you in whatever hell we get sent to," she promised, dark eyes twinkling.

Pushing the villagers past their breaking point wasn't going to get them ready for this battle. Ending around 16:00 each evening, before sunset, gave them time to eat dinner and relax for the rest of the night before the onslaught started in the morning. Two weeks had passed since their initial arrival and Din was honestly a bit anxious as to what secret ability Shand might have hidden up her sleeve. He trusted her. He had to at this point. Didn't mean he liked it any more than Cara, though he had to pretend that he had an inkling of what the impish Jakonan had in store for them. Despite her smiles and jokes, the trickster was still enveloped in as much mystery as she had been as Ronin.

While not helping with the preparations, Shand had made herself useful by becoming the village's official babysitter while the adults were training. Hording the brigade, she had them following after her like a mother duck, lined up and with games, events, and lessons. From teaching them about science, to distracting them with intricate games like Hana Ichi Monme (Red Rover) - the boogers were all enthralled with her and her dedication to being lively and engaging.

"The kids do love her though," Cara realized, having come down from the height of her fury as they spied Shand who had the kids all in a circle holding hands. In the center of their ring, Winta was seated with a blindfold over her eyes as the children sang - quite well in Jakonan - indicating they'd played this game numerous times.

_"Kagome kagome_

_Kago no naka no tori wa_

_Itsu itsu deyaru_

_Yoake no ban ni_

_Tsuru to kame ga subetta_

_Ushiro no shoumen daare!"_

_Kagome kagome_

_The bird in the cage_

_When, oh when will it come out_

_In the night of dawn_

_The crane and turtle slipped_

_Who is behind you now?_

Come the end of the song, the circle stopped moving, and children snickered excitedly as Winta tilted her head.

"Uhhhh," she considered, her smile widening. "Mame-chan!" Ripping her blindfold off, she whirled around to see the tiny figure of the green overlord smiling awkwardly, the only one who hadn't been able to sing the song properly.

The other children seethed at Winta's spectacular guess and Din was impressed that Winta had been able to pinpoint the lack of a voice behind her amidst the choir. "Right again, Winta!" Shand exclaimed. "I'm beginning to think you might actually be an Oni."

"What?!" Winta squeaked, but hid her smile behind her hands.

"Look at the time. Seems training is over. Off you go now," she emphasized her words by placing her hands on her hips and giving the crowd a meaningful, but light look.

A chorus of disappointed ' _aw_ 's and ' _why_ 's echoed around her, many of the youngest crowding her legs as a few of the older trotted off on their own.

"Now that the day's over, can we play with just Mame-chan and you?" Winta implored Shand, who gave her a playfully thoughtful look - as if she were actually contemplating it - before shaking her head blithely.

"I think your own mother would like to spend some time with you after this long day and I'm exhausted! All of you monsters tucker me out," Shand told her dramatically, brushing a few strands of loose hair from her face, eyes framed by thick dark lashes crinkling in amusement.

Din hadn't been able to place Shand's age by this point. Given he'd known her for a decade and she'd always carried herself well (at least until the mask was removed), he'd expected her to be his age or older. Now that he could see her face, he wondered if she was in her 20s or 30s. Her face was too ambiguous to betray either, but her demeanor bespoke the latter. She was probably older than she appeared - or maybe he was hoping that.

Come the end of each evening, Shand would deliver Mame to him, and go off to work on her magic. Faith in her hands, he didn't pester her or delve deeper into the intricacies of the Force. Naturally, he was curious, but he also wasn't certain he truly wanted to know all that it entailed.

Joining the two of them with Mame squirming under her arm, the weary expression was more blatant to them than it had been the children. Despite being good with them, obviously she was drained from providing ceaseless entertainment and keeping the unruliest from stumbling over to where they were practicing with blasters or hand-to-hand combat. Thrusting the child out toward him, Din chuckled softly and accepted the offering.

"What's the matter, Chuckles? Exhausted?" Cara jabbed as Shand turned to head off to wherever it was she went in the evening.

Arching an unimpressed brow, the woman paused. "Want to swap jobs tomorrow? I'm sure the kids would love to use you as a jungle gym. Probably the only way you could keep them entertained."

Beneath his helmet, Din's brows shot up, wondering if the women were about to break out into a fight. Exchanging terse glares before Shand continued on her path away from the clearing and toward the reed framed ponds toward the front of the village.

"What the hell is her problem?" Cara sniffed, glowering in the direction of the rapidly disappearing Jakonan.

This hadn't been the first exchange between the two. The initial friendliness they had for one another had began to devolve as Cara harped upon how they were putting too much faith in Shand, despite having an injured shoulder. As far as the Rebel knew, Shand was still hurt. On Shand's suggestion, they had put themselves in a precarious, if not hopeless position where they were trying to fashion soldiers out of people who'd never lifted an arm in their own defense before. Seeing how pitiful the majority of them were in a fight, day in and day out, was harrowing for the both of them. Obviously, they were going to have to pick up the slack and as far as Cara was concerned - Shand was dead weight and had volunteered them for a laugh.

He wasn't a peacekeeper, so trying to keep Cara from swatting at Shand was starting to grate on him. Had she not been the other teacher for the village, he might've snapped at her, but alienating Dune would just dig him into a deeper rut.

"Give it a rest," he sighed finally, turning away with Mame and hoping to retire to a relatively quiet evening. The sky was a motley of dark clouds ranging from ash to pale grey, whispering premonitions of rain as a cool wind picked up among the huts and tugged at his cloak like a child who wanted to play. Within the confines of the barn, the dovetailed slats of wood whistled somberly. Drawing the blinds down and closing off the front entrance, the curtain billowed but remained an attentive guard.

Mame garbled, ears trembling as he tucked into Din's chest. The kid was tired, the noise of the impending storm unsettling him. Sitting on the pile of blankets that had become his bed, he fed the child and did his best to quiet the warbling as nebulous eyes tilted back and forth from the door and then to the Mandalorian. Taking the better part of an hour, the baby didn't settle down without some considerable convincing.

By that point the rain was coming down in sheets, pelting the wood with percussive force that filled the barn with its erratic tapping. He found the noise soothing, in tandem with the humming wind, head slipping back against the crates that his neck was rested on. When he opened his eyes, he jolted, realizing that a few hours had passed since he'd fallen asleep with Mame cradled in his arms.

Filters in his helmet rapidly adjusting to cut the lack of light as the sun had set, he tilted his visor to notice that Shand had yet to return. Rain continued to billet relentlessly against the roof, causing him to stir, carefully plopping the kid into his pram. Cracking his stiff shoulders, he pushed himself to his feet, pulling the damp shade in front of the entrance to glance outside. The ground had dark puddles, the sky blotted out by the storm's haze, making it difficult to see more than a few meters into the village. Switching his visor to infrared, he only pinpointed the occupants of the huts nearby.

Grumbling, he drew his cloak in and stepped outside. The rain was cold, biting through the layers of his flak suit and sinking damp fangs into his flesh. Shand tended to disappear near the ponds. Maybe she had taken cover from the storm and to prevent hypothermia. He would be fine in his beskar. Past the edges of the dollop-shaped huts, he searched for heat signatures, picking up a faint warmth past the barriers and freshly dug pits. A thick grotto of reeds created a wall, the silhouette within growing brighter like a flame in the night. Pushing a thicket of reeds to the side, he froze, staring at the anomaly that faced him.

Rain had been coming down with a vengeance, soaking the earth and anything in its wake. Yet, right in the small capsule of vegetation, the rain had ceased. It was not vacant, but frozen in place as if trapped in time mid-flight. A strike of lightning illuminated the sky, catching the droplets and throwing glittering diamonds around the person that refused to let them find purchase: Shand. Kneeling on dry grass, her palms were pressed flat on top of her thighs and her eyes closed as she sat in a deep, meditative pose. Surrounded by the fractals of water, none touching her, he stared in a mixture of intrigue and confusion.

If he weren't still getting soaked, his skin icing over as he stood there drinking in the magical scene of Shand drawing upon the mysterious Force, he might've waited until she stirred. Instead, Din cleared his throat in an encore to the second lightning strike. "Shand. _Shand_!"

She did not move or give any indication that she heard him.

He took a step forward, brushing into the hanging raindrops, and shattering the picturesque serenity in front of him. The water cascaded like a waterfall, all that should have fallen, redoubling and slamming into him and forcing him a step back. Shand was entirely enveloped and panic replaced his awe. "Shand!"

"Mother of a fat-" he heard her hiss. "What the hell are you doing out here, Mando?!" The female came into view, her one pristine appearance more akin to a drown womp rat as her hair plastered to her face and her robes suctioned to her lean frame. "What the hell is he doing out here!?"

Din didn't comprehend her question until he looked down and saw that the gremlin had woken up and followed him. Great, that's just what he needed - Shand thinking that he'd dragged the kid outside in the pouring rain. Bending down, he plucked the gibbering child up and sheltered him from the rain as he hunched over, cheeks burning in shame. Well, he had left the baby back in the hut, expecting him to sleep. The thing had an uncanny ability to sense when it wasn't being watched.

The miserable pair trudged back through the storm and to the barn, soaked to the bone, with the monster enthusiastically peppering them with inquiries in his infant-language. By the door, Shand rang her hair and edges of her robes out, splattering water by the threshold, leveling a tart look in his direction. Din had fixated on drying the kid off, taking the canvas robes off and bundling him up like a burrito in a blanket. Ears billowing with a nap imbibed fervor, he vibrated not from the cold, but pleasure of having both guardians in the same room again while not being asleep.

"I thought I told you that I was busy in the evenings," Shand snipped, pulling her boots off and plucking soaked socks from her feet. Bending forward, she turned on a space heater and started toasting her legs.

"It was pouring," Din rebuffed.

"What am I, 5? I was fine until you interrupted me."

"Clearly," he grumbled, resigning himself to frigid sulking with his wet flak suit and beskar on.

"Here Mando, take this since I know 'the armor stays on'," she turned the heater, pulled off the thicker outer layer of her robes, and bundled her shoulders in one of her blankets. "Or is it just the helmet? I never did ask."

She had been intending on asking? Most of their conversations had been brief as of late due to their alternating child duty shifts. "Both, in their own ways. The helmet cannot come off in front of another living thing."

"Or?"

"Or I can't put it back on," he revealed.

"Why?"

"It's the Way of the Mandalore. Oaths we take when we receive our helmet," he elaborated, betraying information he hadn't to another for a considerable number of years.

"So no one's seen your face since you got the bucket?"

Bucket? Din cocked a smirk and edged closer to the warmth of the heater. "Not since I was a boy. What about you? How long had it been since someone had seen your face before all of this?"

"A few weeks," Shand chuckled to his chagrin. "But people didn't know it was me. Sometimes, I'd go out to Canto Bight or Coruscant just to get my quarterly dose of social exposure where I wasn't avoided like the plague. However, the last time someone knew it was me beneath the mempo? Never. When I donned it, I revealed to no one who I was. I was wanted by the Empire. Only in the past few years - following the war - did I risk taking it off."

A method of hiding, not an oath like his own anonymity. "Why were you wanted?" He knew the Shands had been purged, but never the reason why.

Shand was quiet and he wondered if he had stepped over the boundaries of their acquaintanceship. Finally, "I refused their requests, they attacked, and I killed a lot of them." Simple explanation, but it was too simplified. Shand was leaving out important details.

"So the most logical thing to do as a person wanted by the Empire, was to join the Guild? Where at any time you could be turned in by your employer?" Din asked dryly, uncertain of whether he should be impressed that she was still alive or that he was noticing Shand gambled big.

"Hiding in plain sight," Shand mused. "Last place they'd expect. Not as if they could track me on anything other than chain codes. I didn't leave anything behind for them to pilfer."

Fobs could be programmed on more than just chain codes. Din knew that. Shand had been a bounty hunter, so she knew this as well. Which meant that Shand had other methods of disguising herself. A mask and loose kimono wouldn't have been enough, especially if the Empire was on the watch for a Jakonan. The random appearance of a samurai following the fall of a prestigious house would be uncanny. "How'd you do it?"

"Hm?" she arched a brow from beneath the hood of the blanket she'd drawn over her head, looking more like an overstuffed potato with a face. "You really want to know?" she drawled, building up the moment with lingering silence, causing him to lean forward. "Magic!" Shand popped her hands out from beneath her blanket and gave him a wicked smile.

Din scowled, having fallen for her trick, pushing on his knee to sit back. "You've been around the children too long."

"Addled my brain a bit, huh?" she chuckled, nonplussed and leaning down against her bed. "Can't give away all my secrets, Mando. Just in case we do go back to normal and you get my puck."

The idea was laugh worthy, but he simply smiled. Hunting Shand? Imagining that prospect gave him a bit of a thrill, wondering what innumerable secrets the woman had up her kimono sleeve. If she'd fooled the Empire hiding beneath their noses, what challenge would she give him? His heart fluttered at the idea. Who better to avoid a bounty hunter than a bounty hunter?

"You wouldn't last a week," he assured her eventually.

Shand snickered delightedly, a sound that made him grin. "I've lasted a decade already. What makes you think you're special?"

"I know who you are. That's already a step more than the rest of the Guild."

"You know I'm a Shand. You don't know who I am," she reminded him astutely.

Then he dared, "But I might. One day."

Shand hummed, "Just like one day I might hear your name, Mando."

Would she? Their alliance was edging more toward friendship, but when he had moments just to chat with her, he found himself drawn in by her mischief, the bright glint in her arcane eyes, deep enough to fall into. Deep enough that maybe he wanted to fall into them, to sift through the inky void and find the pieces of Shand that made her what she was - to learn about what had happened on Jakon. "Maybe."


	8. Jetii

The battle was nearly there.

Asa hadn't been in an actual front like this for years - ten to be precise. Since the fall of her home on Jakon, all her fights had been skirmishes and amongst her quarries. Strolling the ranks of villagers in place of her highly trained subordinates, she felt her heart twang like an out of tune banjo. This was going to be incredibly dangerous for them, but with the war of their lifetimes looming on the horizon, she felt the murmurs of the symphony humming in her ears. Just as the premonitions had come to her on Jakon, they caressed her essence, stepping up onto a podium and looking down at Sorgan like a tempestuous conductor about to start the orchestra.

Cara and Mando had done the best they could with the resources they had. Three weeks was barely enough time to learn the basics, let alone how to fight ruffians that had legitimate weapons in comparison to their pitchforks and makeshift polearms. Her fingers brushed the steel of her saber and she prayed for the first time in an eternity. No, not an eternity, buut the first time in this new chapter of her life since leaving Jakon. Asakaze prayed she could be the strength for these people, be their shield, and be everything that Ka-Moon and Rensei had wanted in a Jedi.

Her preparations consisted on meditation, grounding herself to reality. As a bounty hunter, she'd sang ridiculous songs in order to distract herself with the misery her life had become. Now, her own music soared in her ears like an eagle, unlike Ka-Moon's string war ballad, but a war hum of its own. Crashing like ocean waves against a rocky shoreline, lilting up in a determined huff of a shakuhachi, and punctuated by the effervescent singing of a female's voice - though no words were ever used - just the intense 'ah's and 'oh's of the battle maiden's whim as she serenaded the God-beasts in a primal, yet striking manner with her vibrato and prowess.

For the first time in her adult life, Asakaze felt ready. This would not be a repeat of Jakon. She would not let these villagers down. While the comparison was apples to oranges - the height of the Empire to a brigade of bandits - she had a responsibility she had to fulfill. When her eyes slid along the villagers, they gave her terse, anxious expressions and she knew they were frightened beyond their wits. But this was home and they would fight for it. Following all the blood, sweat, and tears put into preparation - they were ready to fight and defend what was theirs.

Soft soled boots replaced her sandals - courtesy of Omera. The holes in her tunic had been sewn and a thick robe of dark teal had been fashioned. Asa knew how to repair garments and cut bolts of fabric to forge what she needed, though the color wasn't the same as what Ka-Moon had worn. Despite this, the loose sleeves, the mysterious baggy hood that fell over her head - had the intended effect: this was a Jedi's robe.

"Are you certain your shoulder is fine?" Omera heckled by the front line, her rifle propped against her shoulder as they waited for Mando and Cara to return with the raiders in tow.

Asa's hands were tucked into the baggy sleeves of her teal robes, uniting the cuffs as she gazed out across the ponds. Night was their cover, a thick blanket embroidered with stars, the moon casting an ethereal glow against the obsidian pools speckled with the constellations. The cloak of the evening wrapped itself around the village, which was completely dark with all lights turned off. With their waiting, eyes naturally adjusted to the natural moonlight, waiting on bated breath while the two 'heroes' were out garnering the attention of the enemy.

In their eyes, a mercenary she might be, but none had witnessed any of her abilities or prowess. Mando and Cara had demonstrated a few of their abilities and reputable knowledge, whereas Asa had entertained the children. Now, they were holed up in the barn she'd called a temporary home for the better part of a month.

"Never been better," she chirped in a conciliatory tone. Lacking a weapon, her figure was mostly hidden beneath the thick robes, and her nonchalance did little to sate their nerves. Keeping herself as calm as a zen garden pond, she did feel a bit of her own apprehension easing in like a dark, smothering tide. Meditation had done her well to keep it under wraps, but Asa was naturally a cautious and jumpy person - it was how she'd survived as long as she did. A cold sweat clung to the back of her neck, sticking to some of the thick hair that fell down her back, in a high pony tail, dual tiered bangs framing her face - the first cut she'd done in a long time.

Honestly, beneath the mempo, Asa hadn't cared much for her own appearance in a long time. When on her outings, she'd do minor touch ups, but now that her face was bare for everyone to glimpse she had started to tend it properly along with her hair. Care for her appearance had been taken in the form of a neatly pressed kimono when she was Ronin. Now, aside from keeping her attire as meticulous and crisp as she could, she focused on making herself just as presentable. Not because she had anyone to impress, but rather Asa felt pride in carrying herself in a clean manner. No one needed to know how disorganized she often felt on the inside.

They felt it before they saw it.

Earth trembling, Asa could hear the deep boom of the war drums buzzing in her ears as her eyes listed across the ponds and toward the treeline. Mando's silver form was illuminated first, the beskar chestplate refracting against the moonlight, basking in a spectral warmth as he sprinted - Cara closely behind. A giant crashed behind them, snapping pine trees like twigs, roaring in indignation at being stirred in the middle of the night. The raiders had painted the AT-ST, stripes of green and mud brown lancing the Imperial mech. Erupting at various pointed, raiders on foot tucked in closely behind, Mando rounding with his absurd agility to take down three in rapid hipfire. He was fast and deadly, Asa watching with an impressed gaze as she held the line with the villagers who were trying to line up their sights without hitting the two mercenaries.

Mech trundling forward, Asa's spine stiffened and she tensed her legs, lending her will to the Force as her own song internally battled with the callous tune of the impending skirmish around them. Mando and Cara joined them behind the erected line of stumps sharpened into wooden teeth, chests puffing as they snapped their necks to gaze out at AT-ST that had paused by the edge of a pond, bandits seething around the edges to continue their assault toward the town.

"Why did it stop?" Cara hissed, stealing breath greedily from the air as she held her blaster leveled toward them.

A blinding light filled their senses, causing a few to cry out as their naturally adjusted eyes screamed in pain. Asa sensed the trepidation in the mech pilots, the Force whispering in her ears as she strode through the light which faded. "Cover me, Dune. Cause enough of a distraction so I can get close," Asa instructed quickly,

For once, Dune didn't rebuff or question her. In the height of battle, it was either trust or fail. "Mando, pass your rifle over. I think I know how to distract it," she requested quickly, the amban rifle being passed over before Cara gave Asa a cheeky smile. "Alright, Chuckles. This is all you."

"I don't break my promises," Asa smarted back glibly, removing her hands from her sleeves and leveling her glare out at the AT-ST as she lowered her hood. " _Ikimashou_." _Let's go._

The familiar dragon's roar of the pulse rifle thrummed in her ears, the females splitting off from each other as Dune began taking potshots out at the mech. The toes of Asa's boots bit into the soft grass, legs striking out in powerful strides as the teal robe caught the air and billowed thickly around her. Hand sliding down to her obi, it found the lightsaber with the intention of using it for the first time in years. Utilizing her Chi was a skill she'd never put away, the ability to move faster, to jump higher, to land a great distance further than human knees should be able to absorb - she'd always utilized these abilities like a Jedi. Now, she reminded herself, it was the Force lending her this assistance. One in the same, but of two different strands and mentalities.

Powerful rifle bolts struck the broadside of the mech, instigating the drivers who started to prowl forward and into the traps set deep within the faux ponds. Klatooinian shapes melded around her, the first noticing that she wasn't amongst their ranks and turning a vibroaxe in her direction. She drew her weapon, engaging the saber's pale cherry blossom pink blade, before meeting the axe in a thundering union, her opponent sputtering back at the lustrous blade, capricious and terrified. Asa knew, because she heard the broken song around her and the dread which caused the drums to stutter out of tempo.

Force guiding her as well as her adept abilities as a swordsman, Asa diverted the axe and pirouetted adroitly, imbibed by her years of practice and application. Humming in her ears, the blade of the axe swiped by at a hair's breadth before her saber arched beneath the defenses of her foe and bit savagely into his chest, disregarding the mismatched plates of scrap metal and leather that was intended to protect his core. Slithering to the ground in a heap, she parried the next, lifting her hand and thrusting another right off his feet and into a neighboring pond with the Force.

The polearm struck home against her flushed saber, but the raider was sloppy, aghast, and craven. They had been expecting to rush over like a stampede of bantha, cutting down the villagers without reproach. They had not expected to meet a Jedi, Mandalorian, and Rebel dropper. Reflected in the rosy fluorescence of her weapon, she saw the palpable shock just as she averted his blade and beheaded him. Despite the difference between lightsaber to katana, application was much the same.

Dune was still covering her, huddled in the meager shelter of a pond as she fired the amban rifle again.

Asa bunched the Force in her legs, darting between the thugs, and pouncing. Turning her blade, the pink scintillation fell against the steel hull before a crisp hiss reverberated through her arms as she stabbed the top and started to carve a hole. Durasteel groaned like a lamenting ghoul, silver shifting to an orange sunrise as the metal heated and her saber chewed viciously to rend it.

Within, the drivers began to panic, lifting personal blasters to aim at her. Their mistake. Steel cap plunking down with a gong-like boom, they turned the blasters on her and she deflected the shots back into their faces before dropping down into the hole. Too bad she'd never taken lessons on AT-ST piloting. Dune took another potshot and Asa cursed loudly, sheathing her lightsaber and seizing the controls as she tried to figure out how to make it work. The legs were mucked in the mud and at her attempt to move it, the mech moaned and tottered over - with her still inside.

Screeching as the AT-ST collided with the earth, Asa clawed her way toward the hole she had created as the cabin started to fill with water. Smooth. She could look like an absolute badass and then drown herself - maybe she would to escape the chagrin. Clambering out of the vessel that had been run aground, Asa's brand new teal robes and boots were soaked through. To make matters more embarrassing? Mando was offering her a hand when she glanced out a reedy glare.

"Want to tell me what that was?" Mando asked, glove still offered.

"Na, I'll stay in here, thanks," she retorted audaciously.

Making the stoic Mandalorian chuckle was fast becoming one of her favorite things to do. The minor huff of his shoulders, the breathy noise crackling out of the modulator, she reached up and grasped his hand. He pulled her out of the wreckage, her world going from horizontal to vertical as she got her footing and let go.

While just her knees down were wet, Cara was absolutely soaked, eliciting a snarky snicker from Asa as she glanced over at the dripping dropper. "Have a nice swim, Dune?" she asked snidely.

Cara shoved her over the edge of the neighboring pool, sending Asa caterwauling with a splash, water flooding her nostrils and eyes. Crouching on the edge of the pond, waiting for Asa to resurface, the woman gave her just as impudent a smile. "How's the water, Chuckles?"

Hacking up her lungs, she dragged a hand across her nose as she felt her cheeks burn. A wide smile broke the plane of her face and she chortled, more vapor choking in her nose as she couldn't contain the spasm of laughter that seized her.

"May the Force be with you," Cara snorted, just as amused as she was. "Kriffing Jedi!" Hauling Asa out like a drenched cat, she shook her head in disdain as the Jakonan was plopped on the edge of the pool. "Why didn't you just say that?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Asa retorted hoarsely.

"Mando, were you in on this little joke?' Cara craned her neck to look at the beskar statue that was watching the exchange.

"No."

"Wasn't much of a Jedi when I was a bounty hunter," Asa revealed to her. "Definitely wouldn't have survived as long as I did."

"What's with the change of heart, then?" Cara helped her to her feet, both looking as if they'd been dragged through rough seas.

"Who," Asa corrected, realizing how that could be taken incorrectly with Mando standing nearby. "Our green overlord."

"That menace is why?" Cara cocked her head.

"Yup," she confirmed, sighing at the state of both women as her eyes slid out amongst the carnage. "How did they hold up?"

"No one is dead," Mando revealed, relief flooding over her at the news. "What was that weapon you used?"

"A lightsaber," she drew it from her obi, the hilt soaked as well, and pursed her lips. Weapons were the man's religion, so seeing the plasma sword must've been like waving candy in front of a kid.

"All Jedi use them. Luke Skywalker has a green one if I'm not mistaken," Cara told him.

"Luke Skywalker?" Asa echoed, hearing the name for the first time. "There are more Jedi?"

"Uh, yeah. He fought for the Alliance."

"News to me," Asa muttered, heart fluttering at the idea that maybe there were others akin to her. "Kind of kept my head in the sand to prevent being discovered."

If there were more Jedi, perhaps one of them could enlighten her. Asa had no idea where Ka-Moon had gone after the fall of House Shand or whether she was still alive. Ten years ago there hadn't been an Order. Was it possible that this Luke Skywalker might have created his own after the Empire fell? And if he did, would he accept her as a Jedi? Licking her teeth in thought, she joined the pair in returning to the village where the locals cheered and wept in excitement of finally being freed of their terror from the raiders. Their reactions made her heart swell and for the first time, perhaps ever in Asa's life, she felt she had done something right.

Where ever this Skywalker was, she wanted to meet him and do things like this - helping. Jedi were supposed to be selfless and Asa had plenty to repent for. If she could pay her moral debts down by finding little places like the village on Sorgan to assist, Asa would commit to it in a heartbeat. With little Mame in tow as her padawan, the future made her beam at the folks as they celebrated with a mug of spotchka and started cleaning up come sunrise. None of them had ever heard of a Jedi before, but after witnessing the inhuman feats and the luminescence of her saber, she knew this would be a story they'd tell for generations to come.

The Mandalorian, the Jedi, and the Rebel.

"Could I see that... lightsaber?" Mando asked as they settled back into the barn to relax in the wake of the battle.

Asa's face betrayed her, the subtle tell as her jaw locked and she reached for it. He didn't know. Just in the same way most weren't aware that his helmet couldn't be removed.

"Is that... inappropriate?" he realized a beat later.

"A lightsaber is a reflection of the one wielding it. I created this one myself when I was 17, a bit older than padawans typically do, given the peculiar situation I was in," she lifted it from her obi, Mame cooing in recognition as she held it between her open palms. "The detailing is of the tree in the gardens of my old home. Sakura - a cherry blossom-" she approached him, willing to show him rather than hand it over. Pausing just a scant few feet from him, she bowed her head to display the saber. Her thumb traced the etchings, the falling petals, and the twisting trunk which made her smile wistfully. "A lot of important moments in my life happened beneath this tree. I often wonder if it still stands or if it was burned to the ground."

Mando was courteous, observing with a bowed head, but not touching. She wondered what he was thinking, what expression he might be making beneath the helmet as she knew he was fascinated with the weapon since he'd asked about it again. "The blades come in different colors?" he asked, his voice having dropped with her this close.

"The crystals utilized in the saber react with the wielder. I suppose they could come in any color. My master's was violet like an amethyst. Mine is pale pink like the cherry blossom petals. Apparently, Skywalker's is green. From what I know, those who follow the Dark path have red ones," Asa explained, turning hers over carefully to graze the activation button. With a sleek hum, the blade leapt out and between them, continuing to purr like a loth-cat. "It's pure plasma and suspended in a force containment field, which holds the immense heat-" she tapped the hilt. "But unlike a sword like Amagumo, my family's katana, it isn't balanced the same or equally along the length of the blade due to what it's made of. Without the Force, it's be a much more unyielding weapon to heft, which I suppose is by design. You could easily pick up Amagumo and wield it with the appropriate knowledge, but unless you're trained with a lightsaber and can utilize it alongside the Force, then it'll never sit right in your palm."

Withdrawing the blade, she glanced back up toward Mando, her pulse quickening at how close he'd come to inspect it. "It's impressive," he informed her, deep voice curling into her ears as she continued to hold it out for inspection. "Cut through the mech like nothing."

"Can cut through anything... except for beskar and Tamahagane of course," she smirked, glancing up at his armor to prove a point. "Depends on the density of the material that it's cutting through. Anything that interrupt the arc gets super heated due to the immense electromagnetic field the sword creates. It's also what gives purchase when cutting through things like the top of the AT-ST. On the other hand anything else with an electromagnetic field-"

"-like blaster shots would theoretically be repelled," Mando filled in perceptively.

"Correct."

"Not slug throwers, though," he glanced up, his visor catching her eyes, the mischief in his dry voice clear.

"No, not slug throwers," she chuckled lightly. "Maker, I'd hate to try and deflect one of those with this. Probably would get a face full of lead. Seems that slug throwers and Wampas are my banes." The jokes were part of her and also in an effort to keep the mood upbeat, despite her anxious observation that Mando was rather close to her.

"It suits you," Mando decided.

His words caught her off guard, the whimsical curl of her lips faltering as her head tilted to the side, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. Her skin prickled, cheeks dancing with a flush in the dimly lit barn as the pair of hunters talked weapons so informally. "Pardon?" she asked hoarsely.

"Th-the lightsaber that is," Mando added hastily, coming to the same astute realization that they were rather close to one another. He took a large step back, opening up the space around her as she dropped her hand with the saber in it. "You make a better Jedi than bounty hunter."

Asa gave a stiff nod, her heart having leapt at thinking he was complimenting her. Clearly, she had been mistaken, her eyes dropping over to Mame in an effort to play off her chagrin. A small part of her sighed internally, wishing that Mando was actually giving her a compliment. How weird was that? Few months ago she wanted nothing to do with him and now she was clinging to girlish hopes that he'd say nice things to her? It was laugh worthy, but Asa didn't laugh at her pitiful yearnings with him nearby.

_Just loneliness,_ she reminded herself. _You just want to hear it from someone you respect that you're doing well. Or that you look good while doing it. Been a while since you've had a real friend._

"You know what this is, don't you?" Asa crouched down in front of Mame who made grabby hands toward the weapon. "It's a bit too large for you, but one day we'll make one that'll fit just right."

"You're going to train him?" Mando questioned at the shift of subject.

"I should," Asa replied uncertainly. "But Cara mentioned Luke Skywalker. Whoever he is, I should try to find him. If the Order has been restored then Mame and I's place would be there."

A new home was waiting just on the horizon, shrouded by the mystery of this Skywalker.

"What about you?" she spoke her thoughts out loud. There might be a future for her and the child, but Mando had turned his back on his job to save the infant. He couldn't return to the Guild. He'd have to find work elsewhere.

"I'll see it through," Mando informed her stoutly. "The both of you... to this Skywalker."

"We have to be careful," Asa turned back to Mame, glad that Mando wasn't going to disappear just yet. Well, she didn't have any way off this planet seeing that the Ryu had been abandoned on Nevarro. Who knew what Karga had done with it. "Nevarro was proof that there's still Imperial remnants and if they wanted Mame-chan, I can only assume they'd be just as eager to get their hands on me too." For whatever sick experiments they had been committing against the child, unless it was because of his specific race, she had a feeling they might be eager to try them on her.

"Do you think they're more than just remnants?"

"Can't say other than I've got a bad feeling about it. Jedi were wiped out nearly 30 years ago, those that survived hid, myself included. Shouting to the high heavens that I exist might not be the best tactic. I only felt comfortable wielding the saber here because of how backwater Sorgan is. If we're on a more populated planet, I'll have to be considerably more careful. We don't know who's a loyalist or what factions are lurking underground," she pointed out, just the thought of being so hyper aware erring on a headache. At least she wouldn't be alone through it all. "Thanks... Doing this by myself would be a challenge."

"I'm the one who roped you into this," Mando reminded her duly. "Never knew it was going to work out my advantage."

"You're a lucky brat," Asa told Mame, who in response gave her his trademark goofy grin. Replacing her saber hilt on her obi, she scooped him up, giggling as he pushed his face into hers, wrinkles skimming her golden skin and brushing past the shorter fronds of obsidian hair that now framed her face. "Boku no padawan." My padawan.

"You cut your hair too," Mando was observing them from his spot leaning against the supply crates as the two Force-sensitives had a moment.

"Time to change it up," Asa wasn't going to fall for the compliment this time. The Mandalorian was simply making observations. "Didn't have people looking at my hair or face before."

"It looks good."

And before Asa could throw a bewildered glance at him, the Mandalorian had made a few purposeful strides out of the barn, leaving her rosy cheeked with Mame. The kid poked her face, muttering for attention, as she crouched in shell shocked silence. Mando had complimented her. Not her prowess. Not her abilities. He'd said he liked her hair better the way it was now. The corner of her mouth quirked and her heart thundered in her ears. It could've just been a nice thing to say, but Mando had never struck her as the type to offer empty pleasantries. He was more likely to tell her how bad it actually looked than posture for the sake of Asa's feelings.

What did it mean? Was he just being nice? She doubted it, but also didn't want to read into it more than she should. If they were really friends now, friends could compliment each other without it being weird.

_Then why am I hoping it's more?_

Asa had never lived a life as sublime and simple as that in Sorgan. The locals exalted the three of them, despite the fact they had parted with all their credits to afford to have them there. Not a dime of which actually went into hers or Mando's pocket. She hadn't realized that he'd given it all to Dune in order to convince her to tag along. The respect she had for the tight-lipped man only grew by the day, which was a bit disconcerting seeing that they weren't going to be on this tirade forever. One day, if the fates aligned properly, she would be joining Skywalker. She knew it was the order of things, but she couldn't help but feel sad about it, because Mando was the first friend she'd made since leaving Jakon. Somehow, she was getting attached to him.

Continuing with their original plan to lay low, they remained in the village coasting on anonymity. While there wasn't a regiment or schedule, per say, Asa found herself having a sabacc evening with Omera and Cara once a week. The rocky start that the two warrior females originally had dissipated in the wake of the battle for the town. Omera had always been kind and courteous to her, but welcomed a fresh face and companionship. The woman was sharp, sweet, and funny once she opened up.

They didn't play for credits. There wasn't much of a point and neither Cara or Asa wanted to pluck money out of Omera's hand. Instead, they went for bragging rights and Cara preceded each night with shaking Asa's sleeves out to look for stashed cards. Honestly, she hadn't cheated once since they began their game nights, but she was really considering trying to get one over on the Rebel because of how adamant the woman was that she was cheating.

Spotchka seated in front of them, chased by a brilliantly flavored iced tea that Omera made herself, the women sat at the kitchen table in Omera's hut. Only took Asa one tall tankard before she started feeling the effects of the alcohol. It had been years since she'd actually felt comfortable enough to get tipsy and this evening of relaxation always had her in a chipper mood.

Asa shuffled the cards and started by dealing one card to Omera and Cara before giving herself on. Once there were two cards in front of each of them, she set the stack down. The game begun.

"Hana, how much longer do you think you're staying in the village for?" Omera inquired lightly, drawing a card face down.

"A few more weeks, I think. We're still deciding where we might go after leaving," Asa revealed, having talked to Mando about what their next plan was. He'd told her not to worry about it right now and let the kid enjoy being around other children for as long as possible. She knew he was right, but delaying their departure was only going to make it more difficult. Asa wasn't looking forward to the fallout with Mame.

"You're looking for more people like you," Omera gleaned, glancing toward the lightsaber on her obi.

"Like looking for a needle in a haystack the size of Sorgan," Asa huffed in agreement, drawing a card.

"What's Mando going to do?" Omera asked, before realizing the other two women had glanced up from their cards at this question. "I mean... He's not a Jedi, so-"

"Yeah, what's Mando going to do?" Cara echoed, a devilish smile unfurling across her features.

Asa blinked slowly. Why was she suddenly the man's keeper? "Well, I don't know," she retorted defensively, taking a deep sip of her spotchka. "What? Do you think he tells me everything on his mind?"

"You've known him for 10 years. The two of you are probably best friends!" Cara pointed out.

10 years? How did Cara know that? Asa paused, brows knitting together as leered over at the shocktrooper who was putting an awful lot of insinuation behind the 'friendship' she had with the Mandalorian. "I think you're forgetting what our profession was. You could only trust a fellow bounty hunter as far you could throw them. We weren't 'chummy' until Mame-chan brought us together." Chummy was still a bit of a stretch.

"But you're just going to go find the Jedi and part ways with Mando?" Omera pressed.

"I guess that's a way of putting it," Asa mumbled.

"The little one isn't going to like that," Omera told her. "He's attached to the both of you. Almost like you're his parents."

She had been trying to ignore this, the fact that Mando and her were surrogate parents to the gremlin. But it was so glaringly obvious that the more she ignored it, the more Asa was setting up Mame to really take a hard hit once the Mandalorian went off. Honestly, she was deferring it, trying to convince herself that she'd cross that bridge once they got there, but she was getting just as tethered to Mando as the kid was. Even if it was platonic, she didn't really want to see his beskar bucket disappear.

"The Force will lend us guidance," she offered cryptically. Not because she really was that wise. No, she said it as a crappy way to seem full of sagely experience and that the Force actually made all facets of life easier because it was whispering in her ear, telling her what to do. Reality wasn't that simple and Asa's anxiety peaked at the thought again, causing her to pick up her spotchka and take a few hearty gulps to compensate.

"Does the Force help you play sabacc better?" Cara asked narrowly, cheeks flushed from her alcohol.

"For the last time, Dune, I haven't been cheating!"

Find the Jedi Luke Skywalker and then Shand and the kid would be safe. The idea sounded plain enough, but neither of them had any clue where to begin. Truthfully, now that they actually had a plan, he found himself thinking about what he was going to do once he was on his own again. The Guild was out of the question, so he supposed he'd go looking for where the covert had relocated before seeking other paths to earn revenue for the Tribe. Bounty hunting wasn't the only lucrative business, just the one he was most familiar with. Worst came to worst, he could begin working as an assassin or for a crime syndicate. Those weren't particularly attractive, but what other choice did he have? Wasn't like Shand and Mame were going to be around forever.

That thought stung.

They barely knew each other and Din was starting to like having them around. The woman's whimsical demeanor and mischievous mouth brightened his day alongside the child. Then the kid. Strangely, this seemed to be as close as he would get to having a family of his own. With a gentle sigh, he sat on the porch in front of the barn, soaking in the starlight, contemplating when they'd have to pack up and head to the Crest. There was an allure to the quiet life of the village, but he also knew that he and Shand didn't fit in. No matter how comfortable the locals attempted to make them, their pasts would eventually catch up and cause problems.

Unfortunately, the kid loved it here.

Elbows propped on his knees, he leaned forward gazed out amongst the dull lights within the huts, spying an adoring family getting ready for the evening. Shand was out with Omera and Cara, which had become a weekly tradition. He wasn't staying up for her, as he'd been chastised once for keeping tabs on the times she retired. So when she stumbled back from Omera's house and made finger guns at him, he knew she was sloshed.

" _Haha! Mando!_ " And much too loud.

Flinching, he rose to watch the Jedi nearly trip over her own feet and face plant. Catching herself, she lobbed a cheeky smile and then proceeded to trip up the stairs, colliding hard enough on her chest that Din sucked air.

"Shand..." he muttered as she sprang back to her feet lithely. She hadn't felt it, but probably would come morning. Now she was making more finger guns, pretending to shoot him with little ' _pewpew_ 's as she strafed toward the entrance and strolled right into the wall.

"Oh!" she rounded, making knife hands at the barn as if it were an enemy that got the jump on her. "Well, who put you there? I don't remember you being exactly there last time."

"You're drunk," he announced.

" _Duh_. Think that's news to me?" she slurred, flinging the curtain entering the barn with the pizzazz of a lead actor in a theatre production.

Following her in to make certain she didn't wake the kid, he observed her flop onto her blankets. "Good card night?" he mused, crossing his arms as she rolled over and narrowed her dark eyes at him.

"Could be better," Shand hummed, fiddling with her obi, chucking of her lightsaber and flute. "Hey Mando, I've got a secret for you."

"Do you?" he didn't move to go closer to her.

"I do," she insisted, motioning for him to approach. When he didn't she rolled her eyes. "Do you want to hear or not?"

"The entire village is asleep. No one will hear you tell me."

Shand didn't relent, instead she was more dramatic in her gestures. "Mando!"

Grumbling, he took a few cautious steps toward her before he knelt beside her, tilting his helmet down so that she could talk. With astounding speed, she snapped up and grabbed the cowl of his cloak, dragging him down closer.

"Nobody's ever said they like my hair," she whispered. "Thanks."

Din was trying to recede from her vise grip, but she loosened her dominion and freed him, plopping back down in mild defeat. The doleful expression on her face tugged at his heart, tendrils of onyx scattered on her cheeks. "No one?"

"No, I used to get told that I looked like a boy. On Jakon men wear their hair as long as women. My face isn't as round or soft looking as preferred. I'm too angular and depending on what I wore I was mistaken for a man often," Shand revealed, crossing her arms over her chest as she laid down, glaring at the ceiling. "That's why I cut it."

Din glanced down at her for a lingering moment, wondering how she would be mistaken for a man, but supposed he'd not met nearly enough Jakonans. Eyes sliding over her features, her strong brows, pronounced jawline, and full mouth he didn't quite see it. Not because her hair had been tailored to frame her face in a more feminine manner, she had looked like a woman before that.

She was nonchalant, just as he'd observed in her when she'd been masquerading as Ronin. The lazy arrogance in place of the careful trickster. Both were just as wily, but in different manners. Shand was typically a little more careful about how loose her lips were and be it a fever haze or alcohol, she opened up considerably. He could use this to his advantage - see what information he could glean while she was inebriated.

"Hey." Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, visor turning back toward her. She was propped up on her elbow, bangs dusting her brow as she gave him an intense look. His heart fluttered, as she pointed. "What's that?"

Din fell for it.

Shand flicked his helmet. "Haha, made you look."

His cheeks burned, not because he'd fallen for the trick, but because of the expression she'd leveled at him. Clearly, Shand had realized how her half-lidded, mouth slightly ajar appeared while she was half-laying down. Did she look like a man? No, she did not. He'd been wary of it before, but his defenses were lowered over their growing friendship.

There was also watching the ponds illuminate with a rosy light as Shand danced around like a petal in the wind, the finessed that she moved in practiced and natural. The arcing of the lightsaber had appeared as easy as brandishing a stick, but after her description of how the weapon worked, he realized there was a lot more effort put into her grace. Her skill as a swordsman had never been debated, he'd watched her glide as if she were floating, but he'd never seen a true fight before the battle. Yet, the gruff raiders were poor opponents and Shand disengaged them without breaking a sweat before leaping up with the Force to peel open the hull of the AT-ST with her blade, the light haloing her golden face as she fixated on disengaging their biggest threat. Just as promised, she'd delivered.

What did Shand look like in her element? Fighting another person with just as much talent and skill as her? He wondered how he'd fare against the light-hearted Jedi, suspecting there was more to her playful demeanor than she preferred to let on. Already, he gleaned the insecurity over her appearance when there wasn't much reason for it. To be fair, he didn't know how people might react seeing his countenance, but doubted that would ever happen.

"Go to sleep, Shand," he sighed finally, shaking from his thoughts, and the whisper of deeper feelings that were beginning to stir in his core.

"Mando," she flopped over, grabbing the edge of his cloak as he'd started to rise. "It's gonna suck when we have to part ways-" she admitted, closing her eyes and grumbling the last part. "You're not that bad. 'Spite the bucket... You're good."

Din wasn't given the chance to refute her as the fox plummeted into sleep and dropped her hand. Pursing his lips, he was going to leave her sprawled on her bed, but decided to adjust the Jedi instead of abandoning her to the chill of the night. Tugging the blankets down, he shifted her just enough to drape them over her, a low mutter parting her mouth, though she didn't wake up. His gloves met the resistance of her lean frame, the loosened obi tugging against the edge and revealing her collar to him. Pausing, he drank in the female's physique, brushing her neckline before retracting his hand as if he'd been burned, horrified with himself. Shand was drunk and dozing. After her just saying he was 'good' he'd gone and done that.

"You're right, Shand," he whispered, aware that she didn't hear him. His modulator didn't properly pick up how quiet his voice was, emitting a low buzz in place of his words. "Separating is going to suck." That wasn't his last thought when glancing at her. The last thing passing his mind when he looked at her was mesh'la.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went with the Legends rendition of how kyber crystals work.
> 
> Asakaze went for the Hime haircut with bangs! Her hair is still long, thick, and a little way, but now she's got the trademark framing pieces around her face, which I especially love when the person wears their hair up.
> 
> Yuju isn't her faceclaim, but she's got the exact Hime hairstyle that I had in mind for Asakaze.
> 
> [Down ](https://biaswrecker.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/68eb6803e211be15c9caddbe07dd855e.jpg)  
>    
>  [Up](https://pm1.narvii.com/6456/e31db8cb9c21774900301459b2b454928c715c6a_hq.jpg)


End file.
